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hongjoongscafe · 7 months

Text

Skirt.

Drabble

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: smut

Summary: he was too eager to punish you.

Word count: 2.4k+

Warning: edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, smoking, spanking, oral, fingering, BDSM, name-calling, mean JK, Daddy kink, vibrator, cum eating, overstimulation, spitting kink, pain kink, face slapping, cream pie, unprotected sex (cover it up before Namjoon gives you an unpleasant lesson).

Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist.

Masterpost.

“Oh my fucking God!” you moaned as a heavy hand landed on your naked ass, leaving a sweet sting behind.

“You are such a fucking slut, hm,” Jungkook growled. “Always acting like a whore in front of everyone,” he said as he left another hard blow on your ass. He had you bent over his legs with your skirt hiked up and your black lace thongs down your ankles. Your tits were hanging out of your skimpy tube top.

His fingers slipped between your dripping cunt, pinching your throbbing clit with his fingers. “This fucking skirt does nothing to hide this slutty cunt. Just asking to be fucked by anyone with a dick.”

“Only you,” you whined and gasped when he spanked your cunt, making a wet noise. “Please!”

“Please what?” he squeezed your cheeks and made you look at him. “What do you want you fucking whore?”

“Please, Daddy,” you cried. “Fuck me already!”

“That's all you can think about, hm? My big fat cock?” he spread your ass cheeks to see your pathetic holes clenching around nothing. Your cunt was dripping juiced down your thighs and begging attention. “Look at you being so fucking needy. I bet you will spread your legs open for my friends, too.”

“No, Daddy!” you felt frustrated, not being able to feel his fingers or cock inside your hot and wet cunt. “Please, fuck me like a whore that I am,” you pleaded.

Jungkook picked you up and threw you on the silky sheets. The mattress dipped around you as he climbed up and turned you around, on your knees and pushed your head down in the sheets. He pulled his belt out of his pants. Hastily, he pulled your hands behind your back and tied your wrists together.

“You wanna get treated like a slut? Okay then,” he harshly pulled your hair to bring your ear near his lush lips as he dangerously whispered, “Don't complain when you get bruises and a sore cunt tomorrow.”

“I wo— Ahh,” you screamed as he plunged his four fingers into your cunt, not letting you adjust but fucking them hard and fast. The tears rolled down your cheeks as your mouth moaned loudly, enjoying every single second of him.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “Your needy cunt is taking my fingers so well. So wet.” The wet squelching noises turned you on even more. “Gonna fuck you till you pass out and wake up to my dick pounding into you. Wanna make sure to remind you that you are my fucking whore. Gonna fuck this fact into you.”

He felt your walls clenching around his fingers making him know that you were close. “I'm close. Please, don't stop! Why?!” you screamed when suddenly you felt empty. You gasped when he landed a painfully hot spank on your pussy making it look pinkish-red.

“Don't raise your voice in front of Daddy,” he coldly said. “You are such a fucking brat. Need to put you in place.”

You knew you fucked up big time by showing up in this outfit at a Halloween party and talking to Taehyung a little too frankly as he checked you out. You knew you wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow when Jungkook's eyes were red with rage and lust.

He got up, shuffled around and removed his clothes. And opened the drawer. You couldn't see what he took out of it but waited for him to come back.

After a few seconds, he got back behind you and raised your ass higher up. Your eyes widened when he shoved a vibrator deep into your cunt. He chuckled when your hole easily squeezed it in. He then crawled in front of you and pulled your hair to get it between his legs and make you sit a little, face to face with his throbbing big fat cock. Its head was angry red and shiny with precum. His cock was the prettiest with the perfect curve. “Now be a good whore and suck my cock.”

You didn't need to be told twice as you licked his head and took him into your mouth, trying to take the whole of his big length but miserably failing. “Is my cock too big?” you hummed around him. “Tsk tsk, thought you were trained after taking many dicks.” You both were well aware that that was not true. But you would be lying if that didn't make you want to beg him to fuck you senseless. “Guess nobody had a dick this big?” he said, taking a blunt between his lips and lighting it up before throwing the lighter away. He took a deep puff, rested his hand with the blunt over his head and looked at your form through hooded eyes.

You bobbed your head up and down. You wanted to take it all and tried harder. You closed your eyes and pushed your head down but gagged when his tip hit the back of your throat. He moaned when you swallowed around him. Your hands itched to hold his dick and play with his balls.

Jungkook could see his dick moving in your throat. “Fuck,” he grunted. “You are taking me so fucking well. Just like a perfect whore.” You moaned around his cock when he started the vibrator at a lower setting.

You looked up at him through your wet lashes to see him smirking and holding a tiny remote in his other hand. Your eyes rolled back as the mild vibrations were slowly pushing closer to your high. But soon you were disappointed when they stopped.

And then he turned them on stronger than before. His dick slipped out of your mouth as you moaned loudly and your eyes rolled back. Your nails dug into your palms and your legs shook. “Don’t fucking stop!” he hissed.

You opened your eyes and licked his balls and sucked them one by one. His eyes rolled back as his chest heaved up and down. Small moans and grunts were leaving his pink lips. He took another puff of smoke and blew it out. Your tongue was pressed hard against his underside. You could feel the vein throbbing against it.

He took the blunt between his lips and held your hair and forced his cock inside your mouth. He started fucking your mouth. “My pretty cumslut. Taking in daddy so good.” He turned off the vibrator completely when he saw you coming closer, yet again taking away an orgasm.

He felt closer to his high and quickly changed his position and got behind you. He slipped himself inside your hot cunt beside the vibrator and fucked your cunt. His thrusts were hard and fast making your body jolt. Your cheek was pressed against the silky sheets as you drooled all over them.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you back as he trusted. You both moaned at the pleasure it sent through your veins. His cock went deeper into your cunt, his tip brushing your spongy g-spot. “I’m gonna fucking mark this pussy with my cum in it. Will make you walk around in this fucking skirt without panties with my cum running down your thighs. Wouldn't that be good?”

“Daddy, please!” you whined. “Please let me cum! I'm so close.”

Before you could cum, he pulled out. An evil chuckle left him. “You will only cum when I ask you to.” He pulled the vibrator out and replaced it with his fingers. He plunged them into your cunt making you scream out.

“Daddy!” you blabbed some incoherent words to him. He was satisfied to see you so dumb and senseless just because of him.

“So fucking dumb. You wanna cum?” you nodded your head but screamed when he spanked your ass, making it redder than it already was. “Words, you dumb whore.”

“Yes, Daddy! Wanna cum on your fingers!” you cried, tears staining the purple sheets.

Jungkook groaned, feeling your velvety walls throbbing and clenching around his fingers. “Cum, then. Fucking cum on my fingers like a slut you are.”

“Oh, Daddy,” you screamed.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull and moaned out his name loudly as your climax hit you harder and squirted violently. Jungkook removed his fingers but rubbed and spanked your pussy hastily as your squirt splashed around on his abs and cock. “Give me more,” he grunted as he plunged his fingers back into your cunt and fingered you hard. You weakly squirted some more before you felt overstimulated and whined.

Jungkook flipped you around and saw your fucked up face. Your makeup was ruined, mascara was running down your cheeks and lipstick was smeared all over your mouth. He loved it.

He took a puff of blunt and blew it out before putting it away. “Now you look even more of a slut. But we are not done just yet,” he said and got between your legs. “Look at my hand. Look what your needy cunt did to it.” You looked at his hand covered with your cum and squirt. “Clean it for me.” He said and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his fingers and licked them clean. He pushed them further until you gagged around them. He enjoyed looking at you trying to suck his fingers. You were his perfect little slut, letting him do whatever he pleases without ever stopping or stepping away.

You moaned around his fingers when you felt the sweet stretch in your pussy as he trusted back inside. “You wanted to cum, yeah? Let's see how many times you can cum.”

He started plunging at an animalistic pace. He took his fingers out, wrapped them around your throat and tightened the grip just enough to leave harmless bruises and to make your head a little dizzy. His lips found yours and clashed messily. He slipped his tongue in your mouth as you moaned when his cock hit deeper into you. Your walls were feeling raw but the pleasure was too good to stop.

His free hand found your clit and rubbed circles over it. “Fuck, Daddy! So good. You fuck me so good! So fucking big and girth.” He let go of your neck and squeezed your right tit and pinched your nipple.

“You like that, bitch?” you let out a hoarse yes. He spat on your jiggly tits and wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked on it. His tongue was flat on your sensitive nub and then bit it before leaving it with a pop. “So fucking nasty. I smell your slutty cunt here. It's leaking so much. My balls are drenched.”

He stopped for a second and held your under thigh and bent you in half. He thrust back inside, much deeper this time. Your hands were still behind your back, holding the sheets as if your life depended on it.

Jungkook rubbed your left cheek with his hand before slapping it. Your eyes rolled back and pussy clenched around his dick suffocatingly. He chuckled seeing you like this. “Such a painslut.” he said and slapped your cheek again. This time you moaned loudly for him and took another hit on your cheek. You were indeed a pain slut just like him.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he moaned.

You obliged and opened your mouth and slid your tongue out. He collected the spit in his mouth and came closer to your mouth and spat it in your mouth harshly. The glob of spit slid down your tongue. He never spat in your mouth before. But it felt good and dirty. You moaned loudly and clenched around him.

“Swallow,” he commanded. You swallowed and showed him. “That's my good slut. Come on now, cum again. Cum on my cock.”

Your walls squeezed around him. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as you felt your orgasm taking over your brain. You had no control over your body. It just screamed for Jungkook to destroy and use.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that,” he groaned when your walls squeezed him squirting all over his cock. “That's it. Let it all out,” he rubbed your clit to help you ride your high. You felt tired. But he didn't stop. Instead, he picked up his pace, “I still didn't cum. You gonna cum with me, too.”

“No more!” you cried as he kept hitting the spot. “Too sensitive!”

“Shut up!” he spanked your ass leaving a burning pleasurable pain behind. “You said you are a fucking whore so act like one and take what I give,” he gritted. “Be a good girl and cum with me, yeah? Fucking cream my cock,” he panted, coming closer to his climax. “Cream it good, baby.”

Your body shuddered and your back arched. Out of nowhere, the strongest orgasm slapped you across your face and you came on his cock again.

“Oh fuck,” his voice trembled and thrusts got sloppier as he came inside your burning walls, painting them white. He filled you up to the brim with his cum as thick ropes of cum didn't stop. His orgasm was more intense than ever. He never edged himself this much ever but he didn't regret it.

Finally, he was done coming. Slowly, he pulled out of your cunt and hissed at the overstimulation. Your cunt was red and swollen as his cum dripped down your folds and stained the sheets. The sight was too delicious to leave it alone.

Jungkook bent down and licked a thick strip from your asshole to your dripping cunt. You tried to get away but he held you in place. “Daddy,” you whine. “Too sensitive.”

He hummed on your cunt, sending shivers down your spine. “I know, baby,” he moaned. “But your cunt is so fucking delicious.” He kept on eating you out until your cunt was clean. But he didn't leave just yet. He wanted to pull one more orgasm out of you.

He nibbled your clit and sucked harshly on it. Your breath hitched and your mouth fell open. Your brain could not register anything anymore. He kept sucking and biting your pussy until you felt coming closer. “I'm, yeah, hmm,” you let out some slurred meaningless words but he understood.

With the last bite on your clit, you poorly squirted on his face and came. He lapped every single drop and finally, left your pussy alone before laying next to you and removing the belt from your bruised wrists and kissing them.

Jungkook looked at your fucked face and felt proud. You were barely awake when he pulled your trembling body closer in his arms. The last thing heard him say before he pecked your lips was—

“My little whore never disappoints her daddy in bed.”

…..

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae

Have a nice day/night💓

#bts #bts smut #bts jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic

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touyasdoll · 8 months

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Hold On

pairing: Touya Todoroki x f!reader x Keigo Takami; poly!DabiHawks x f!reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: reader is being physically restrained for the sake of pleasure, restraints, biting, teasing, oral (f!receiving), orgasm control, overstimulation, please let me know if I missed any ❤️

notes: boy oh boy I hope this position makes sense lmao I struggled to describe it, but basically Hawks is functioning as a set of stirrups.

basically: you are at your boyfriends' mercy, but touy & kei are merciless menaces ❤️

"Quit squirmin'," Touya warns you as he lifts his head from between your thighs, which is already a sopping mess of his saliva and your own arousal. "Hold her tighter."

"She's gettin' hard to hang on to," Keigo chuckles and it's a soft, melodic noise in your ear. "I don't know if she'll make it through another one."

Your hands are currently bound in front of you by a long, silk red ribbon, which keep your wrists tied tightly together. Your sweat drenched back slips and slides against the blonde's bare, chiseled chest as he sits with his winged back up against the padded velvet headboard of the bed.

His ankles are intertwined with your own, each leg threaded through yours in a way to keep you wide open and at Touya's mercy while his hands are busy keeping the rest of you still, though his hand wanders to caress your breasts and gently tease your nipples.

"She will," the ivory haired man says confidently before he dives back in, tongue lapping at your clit, which had taken oh so much from both of them already.

The motion is tender, but it still feels so, so good. Too good. Each pass of his tongue across the extra sensitive bundle of nerves illicits a whimper from you. Your thighs try to move on their own, attempting to slam shut despite how Keigo has you pried open.

"Touya," you whine softly, fingers knitting into his mussed hair to tug as you try in vain to move your hips even just a little, desperate to fuck his face the way you want to.

"Yes, doll?" He smirks against your thigh, taking your flesh beneath his teeth.

"Fuck you," you huff, frustation bubbling as the crescendo of your budding orgasm begins dwindling away.

He responds with his teeth again, biting hard enough to leave a mark this time, but the pain is coupled with Keigo's tongue sliding over the pulse in your neck, making you gasp while your body bows as far as his hold will allow.

"We're gonna, sweet thing, but we're gonna keep having our fun with you first," the hero whispers in your ear.

His fingers ghost along the center of your torso, trailing between the valley of your breasts, straight down your stomach, and over your mound to dip his fingers between your folds. His ring and middle finger find your clit, drawing it in slow circles while Touya's tongue spears your center.

"Fuck," you moan, eyes rolling back as you try to move your hips again and Keigo lets you.

He unwinds his legs to allow you to grind against their touch, hips bucking as Touya's tongue laves deliciously between your thighs and he moans directly into your center.

"You only get to cum when I say you can cum, you got that, gorgeous?" Keigo coos in your ear, his voice much sweeter than his devious intentions.

"Please," you gasp, hips rolling against Touya's face as his tongue alternates between swirling inside of you and adding pressure to Keigo's consistent, but gentle ministrations.

It isn't sending you rocketing towards a violent end, but rather letting you ascend the staircase to oblivion step by step, leading you to a glorious precipice that you don't think you'll have a choice but to step right off of when you reach the top.

"Tell the man that you understand," Touya growls seductively against your pulsing pussy, lapping at the juices that spill out before his tongue vigorously impales you again.

"I understand! I understand," you pant, eyes screwing shut as Keigo ups the pressure, circling his fingers faster to urge you up the steps leading to your demise.

"Good girl," Keigo purrs, taking the lobe of your ear into his mouth to suck. "It'll all be worth it. I wouldn't lie to you, baby."

Your body feels wrung dry. Between the two of them they'd taken countless orgasm from you already. Through tears, convulsions, and screams over overwhelming pleasure, they had ripped one after another from your shaking form.

But the coil is curling up once again, promising to expel whatever is left within you when it finally snaps. The pressure start to build at a steady pace, sending your mind into a tizzy.

Keigo's palm cups your breast, soft fingers tugging at your nipple as his erection prods at your ass, the sweat between your bodies making the smooth skin of his length slip against you as your writhe.

He groans in your ear, sinful sounds depositing into your psyche as his fingers move faster still, working in tandem with the half crazed lashing's of Touya's tongue while your cunt muffles the noises leaving his lungs as he grinds his leaking cock against the mattress.

"Kei," you warn him in a whisper.

It's all the volume you can manage, but he shushes you, though his voice is taut. He wants to give it to you just as much as you need to take it, but he makes you wait. They always make you wait.

Holding on seems like an impossibility, but you know that the magnitude of the wave that will inevitably crash over you will pale in comparison to what you're feeling right now, so you hang on.

Your heels dig in and you squirm, starting to wriggle away from them until Keigo's arm slips around your middle to keep you from escaping even a single sensation of what they're doing to you.

Your fingers knit tight into Touya's hair, tugging harshly as you search for an outlet for all the energy bubbling up within you, screaming for a way out. He only moans louder in response to the pain as it heightens his own pleasure. You swear you can feel his smirk as he continues devouring you.

"Cum for us, angel," Keigo whispers.

Your eyes snap open as an inhuman noise tears from your lungs. All that pent up energy claws it's way up your throat and tears through your limbs as your body bends and bows every which way.

Tears roll over your cheeks as your vision goes white and you are absolutely blinded by pure, unadulterated bliss. You are only vaguely aware of the presence of your two tormentors, who coax your through the experience while offering hushed words of praise as their eyes greedily drink in the sight.

"Can't," you murmur once you still, save for the aftershocks that aren't quite through with you yet. "Can't anymore."

Touya chuckles as he crawls over you, even the dip of the mattress making sparks fly across your skin as his swollen tip taps against your slick inner thigh.

"But, doll," he says innocently. "We haven't even filled you up yet."

thank you for reading <3 likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciated ❤️

#dabi x reader #hawks x reader #dabihawks x reader #touya todoroki x reader #keigo takami x reader #touya x reader #keigo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut

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yokohamapound · 8 months

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POV: You're Fyodor's perfect little housewife and I've been playing with @honeydazai's Husband Fyodor bot way too much. This is Vee's fault. And @amostimprobabledream too, now that I think about it.

Characters: Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: afab!reader, femme clothing, gendered terms "wife", "girl", NSFW, controlling relationship, dom-sub themes, sex toys

Fyodor Dostoevsky

The bubbling hiss of sauce simmering in the pan covers the sound of Fyodor's return. Steam from the stovetop billows in warm, savoury clouds against your face whilst you prepare supper. You've twisted your hair up off your neck to keep it out of the way, but little strands escape to curl damply against your forehead and around your ears.

He closes the front door behind him with care, sliding the bolt home. He leaves his coat hanging on the wrought-iron stand by the door, his ushanka on the hallway table. Silent footsteps proceed along the hall, following the delicious smells drifting from the kitchen.

Fyodor likes to sneak in sometimes, mostly for his own amusement. He wants to see what his little myshka gets up to while he isn't home, and more importantly, it keeps you on your toes. You'll never know exactly when he might simply walk into a room or appear behind you, so it behoves you to be the ideal little housewife at all times. It is a role you've taken to whole-heartedly.

Today, Fyodor is treated to the sight of you standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner in anticipation of his imminent return. His sharp violet gaze is heavy lidded as he takes in the vulnerable arch of the back of your neck, a single tendril of hair lying against your nape where it has escaped your chignon.

An apron edged in frills has been tied over your dress du jour—white today, with a tight bodice and a skirt that flares out over your hips, stopping in a froth of silk midway down your thighs.

And then...then there are the stockings that sheathe your legs in gossamer-thin silk, lace tops clinging lovingly to your thighs. Your legs are turned out beautifully thanks to the high heels that keep you ever so slightly off balance, like a newborn fawn—graceful and lovely and oh, so vulnerable.

That isn't the only thing keeping you off balance, of course. Fyodor is a chessmaster. He always has more than one avenue of attack.

Fyodor reaches into his pocket.

His long fingers curl around a small, rectangular device. It's deceptively simple, just a little black box, with two buttons and a dial. His thumb brushes the dial, nudging it up a few notches.

The effect is immediate.

A gasp echoes through the expansive kitchen. You stiffen in place, clamping your soft thighs together. Your hands fumble, grip the counter, and your head droops like a wilting flower. Fyodor's smile widens, his eyes darkening as he twists the dial higher, knowing exactly what it will mean for you.

You see, under that pretty little dress of yours, there's a pair of panties in the same lace, bridal-white, that matches your stockings. He knows, because he picked them out for you this morning, then slipped a special little reminder inside them, with the express order that it not be removed.

A paired device nestles up against your swollen, aching clit, buzzing and vibrating without cease. Poor thing, you've had to endure it all day, through all of your chores and wifely duties, the intensity subject to Fyodor's whim, the patterns erratic so it can never be ignored.

This new wave pulses through you, heat coiling along your spine as you rock your hips, trying desperately for release. Unaware your tormenter is standing a few feet away behind you, enjoying your predicament. The beastly little vibrator shudders against you, humming on and off, kept in place by the sodden lace and the weight of Fyodor's authority.

"Careful." Fyodor's richly-accented, amused voice lilts through the kitchen. "Don't let the dinner burn, darling."

Your head snaps up. You go to turn around, but he merely pushes the intensity up some more until you can hardly stand. All you can do is tremble, leaning your weight on your arms where they rest on the polished countertop.

"W-Welcome home, Fedya," you manage, your voice shaking. It wouldn't do to forget your manners, no matter the torment he's inflicting on you. You wouldn't want to make him decide you need...correcting. "I..."

"Such a good, obedient wife," your husband, your master, muses. "Dinner almost on the table as soon as I get home. It smells delicious, my love."

"Th-thank—"

Before you can do anything else, you find yourself penned in against the countertop. Fyodor's hands planted either side of you, his breath warming the back of your neck.

"There is something else I have an appetite for, before dinner," he says, his voice low, smoky, in your ear. "I think you can satisfy both, darling."

The word 'darling' is punctuated by a kiss, cool lips pressing to the top of your spine, revealed where the neckline of your dress dips a little at the back.

"I trust you don't object, myshka?"

Not only do you know better than to deny him, your body is all but begging for release. All day you've been kept on the edge, a fraction of an inch from toppling over into sweet, carnal bliss, only to be denied at the last instant as the toy shuts off or changes pattern. You know better than to take matters into your own hands. Even if he's busy with work, Fyodor will know.

He may not truly have a god complex, but he has you convinced of his omnipotence.

You bob your head, an obedient, jerky nod. Fyodor lets out a low, satisfied hum.

"Good girl," he says.

He reaches out a hand and flicks the stove off. He doesn't want you to move from where you are, so perfectly positioned for him, but he doesn't want to spoil all your hard work by letting the dinner burn. How thoughtful he is.

Fingertips brush against the backs of your thighs, the touch bordering on icy through the fragile lace. Fyodor traces the backs of his fingers down the sleek line of your thigh, causing the limb to shake.

Or it might be the incessant pressure against your clit, the syncopated buzzing that makes heat pulse low through your belly. A soft, needy sound leaves you, one that makes him chuckle. Fyodor’s hand slips between your thighs, tracing along the lace of your underwear. You jolt, which only forces you against the vibrator again.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Look at you, his poor darling, with nowhere to move that won’t cause you more pleasure.

Slender fingers stroke your slit through the soaked fabric, fingertips tapping against the toy, pushing it against you just that little bit more. Gripping the edge of the counter, it’s all you can do to keep your footing. Heat simmers underneath your skin with nowhere to go. Restless, you ache, you crave.

“Tell me, my darling,” Fyodor intones, his voice right by your ear, his breath tickling your cheek. “How has your day been? Did you like my little love token?”

He brushes aside that straying tendril of hair to kiss your throat, lips pressing against where your pulse races just beneath the thin, vulnerable skin. He can feel your voice reverberate through your throat as you utter one, obedient syllable.

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he all but purrs. “I hope it made you feel appreciated.” An amused hum. “But now your husband would like some appreciation in return. What do you say?”

It doesn’t matter what you say, because his solid form presses into you from behind. While not the most physically imposing man, he holds a power and gravitas that is more than enough to pin you in place when combined with his superior height. You’re far too much Fyodor’s darling little wife to try and wriggle away.

Fyodor’s excited breath tickles the back of your neck. Long fingers slip into your underwear, stroking your soaked core. A delicate touch, at odds with the insistent, mechanical pressure against your clit. He tugs the lace aside.

The blunt head of his cock slides against you, brushing against your slit, teasing the vibrator still trapped against that throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Please…” A needy whine. Perfectly pathetic, and exactly what he wants.

“Well, when you ask so sweetly…”

Fyodor’s cock slips inside you in a single slick, smooth thrust. He plunges in slow, letting himself indulge in how your walls part along his length, twitching and rippling from the constant stimulation you’ve had to endure. He laughs, an edge of a moan in the sound.

“Absolutely divine,” he says, low, husky. “Dorogaya.”

Thus you find yourself, teetering in your heels, skirt flipped up at the back, bent over the kitchen counter with your devilish husband’s cock stretching your core.

Fyodor sees no need to hold himself back or give you time to adjust. You’re more than ready for him, slick glistening on the insides of your thighs. You need this. You deserve this, for being so well behaved.

His thrusts are deep, rhythmic. Slow at first, to force you to feel every inch as it glides in and out of you, to prolong that moment of desperation before you get what you really want. You can’t see his face, but you know exactly what his expression will be. His eyes eyes hooded, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at his mouth. Completely sure of his own power and delighted with his possession.

Every push of his hips presses your clit against the vibrator, until it throbs and burns with the constant stimulation. You can feel it now, that hollowness in the pit of your stomach, the tightness in the small of your back. So close you can taste it.

Fyodor’s hand wraps around your throat. Not a tight grip, just holding it, caressing your vulnerable neck with his fingertips. His lips brush your ear, cool against your feverish skin.

“Perhaps I should leave you little gifts more often, if this is how I am to be received when I come home.”

The only answer Fyodor receives is a wordless whine. His free hand settles on your waist, pushing you down, folding your torso down against the cool marble, as he claims what he wants. Taking you in the kitchen that you work so hard in. Why shouldn’t it be the scene of your reward, as well?

Faster now, cock barrelling back into you with each thrust as he abandons showmanship for the sheer, hedonistic pleasure of taking what’s his, of using you for his own gratification when yours is already guaranteed. The sound of his low, laboured breaths mix with your gasps and squeals, with the muffled thump of your hips against the countertop, with the steady buzz against your clit.

His thumb touches the dial, pushing it to an extent that leaves you bucking. Your voice is hoarse, your body shuddering with overstimulation and desperation as Fyodor fucks you to his heart’s content.

All day. All day with that goddamned thing teasing and torturing you, and now this? It’s too much for anyone to take, and Fyodor knows that all too well. He could have predicted down to the second you would let loose a ragged moan. He hisses with pleasure as your cunt contracts around him, your hips bucking, accidentally fucking yourself on him as you ride out the waves of release.

The force of it steals the breath from you, leaving you weak and boneless, upper body draped across the counter, barely able to feel your legs. Fyodor’s final thrust plunges deep, sinking his cock as far it’ll go, his seed pouring into you.

He lets out a soft, condescending laugh at the mess he’s made of you. Your hair falling from its style, your skin dewy with sweat, dress rumpled, his cum slowly dripping out of you. He pulls your chin up, turning your head so he can give you a kiss.

“I’ll take dinner in my study, darling.”

He leaves you to compose yourself before you resume dinner preparations. You lay there a moment, listening to the sound of his footsteps die away. Slowly, you pick yourself up, still shaking as you tug your dress and underwear back into place. Taking the time and the reflection in the teapot to tidy your hair, dab away the sweat, refresh your lipstick.

You almost drop your lipstick as something jolts you. The fucking vibrator, right where he left it. A soft hum now, just enough to stimulate your clit, to make you aware of it. With unsteady steps, you go to fetch the plates, wondering what will await you in the study.

He’s not done with you yet.

#yokohama pound #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd smut #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader

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hecateslore · 6 days

Text

☆💋

Biker!Simon and Baddie!reader...some nsfw, as always mdni

"I'm going to work," You adjusted your top, "So clean up around here." You tied your apron around you waits. Simon was laying down on your bed, hid head in the pillows. He gives you a thumbs up falling back asleep. "You're still getting me tonight?" You asked, already knowing the answer, Simon hummed and you shut your fan's light off.

At work, you finish cleaning up your station, wiping down the counter, and the barstools. Feet hurting from standing almost all night. "I'm leaving babe, have a goodnight, or morning." You're coworker Tasha chuckled, "Later." You said, putting the chairs up. When you finished, you pulled your phone out of your apron, checking the time.

"Hello," Simon answered the phone, his voice groggy with sleep. "Did you forget?" You could hear Simon groaning and grumbling incoherently, "I just woke up," He mumbled. "So are you getting me or not?" You snap, cranky and ready to get out of your work clothes. "I'm on my way." He says hanging up.

You sat outside on the curb waiting for Simon to come and get you. playing candy crush on your phone and looking through door-dash to see what was open. You could hear the engine roaring from down the street. Simon pulls up, his long legs at each side of the bike, "Glad you could join us." You mumbled, straddling the bike, you wrap your arms around Simon waist. The ride was short but extremely fast, surprisingly quiet for the wind blowing in your face and ears.

Once you two get to your apartment, Simon parks it in the garage, you hop off and wait for him to get his bike situated, standing with your arms crossed, "Can you hurry?" You whined, your feet still throbbing. Simon finished and you both walked up the stairs, your knees felt heavy, "My feet hurt." You mumbled while walking behind Simon. By the time you get to your front door, you're not even hungry anymore.

"I'm so sleepy," You said incoherently, laying in your bed waiting for Simon to lay next to you. "I can see that," He flops on your bed, running his hands on your exposed midriff. "That tickles," You giggled, "It's supposed to," Simon looks at you, dipping his head to kiss below your belly button. "You leaving?" you asked, running your hands through his over grown buzzcut. "Not tonight, or this morning." He mumbled, pulling down your pajama shorts, "Good." You lift your hips letting him pull your shorts lower and lower.

You spread your legs letting Simon's large hand rub your clothed cunt, "You've been mean to me lately." He said lowly, "How have I been mean!?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re snappy and everything bothers you.” Simon's lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in closer. "And you were Ignoring me when I called you, Avoiding my texts..." He teased, “Cause you only call when you need something.” You watched him trace the outline of the wet spot that was slowly growing and growing.

Simon pushed your legs farther apart, sticking his long tongue out and licking up your panties,"You know what I need now?" he asked, his voice low and seductive. You shook your head no, Simon clicked his tongue, he grabbed the band of your thong and slowly pulled it down your legs, revealing your wet slit. He licked a stripe, and hummed at your sweet arousal.You moaned softly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

He gently spread your lips apart then swirled his tongue around your clit. Your hips bucked gently as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. You let out small whines of pleasure, sighing his names every time he hit that sweet spot. You reached down, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer to your pussy, Simon groaning and slurpingheavily, his tongue never leaving your sensitive nub.

Your moans were getting louder and louder, But then were rudely interrupted by Simon's ringtone blaring by the side of your head. You let out a frustrated groan, Grabbing his phone a tossing it at him harshly, already knowing what was going to happen in the next few minutes. "Yeah?" Simon said clearing his throat. You slid your panties back on and walked to your bathroom, watching Simon go under your bed to pull the duffle bag out.

"You're leaving?" You leaned on the bathroom's door post, "I have to drop some stuff off." Simon said, pulling out the Armalite, inspecting it. "And I'm the mean one." You scoffed, "Don't start," Simon said, placing the gun back in the duffle bag. "You only prove my point more and more," You shake your head in shame. Simon sighs annoyed, "I'm staying at johnny's tonight." He lifts the bags and swings it over his shoulder.

"Leave my key on the counter." You ordered, Simon chucks the key at you and it falls at your feet. "Dick." You yelled watching him leave your apartment.

You scrubbed the bars counter, scratching the granite-if that was even possible. You head was hung all work day, Not as cheery as you usually were, which was what happened every time Simon would leave then eventually turn up again and then leave one more time.

Your shift was over and you waited for the Uber to pull up, You sat with your head in your hand, debating on whether or not to text Simon to tell him to come over, and that you didn't mean anything by what you said.

You sat in the backseat listening to the audio book your driver was listening to, something about two forbidden lovers who ran away together. It made your eyes roll even harder than they ever did. Simon still on your mind, hoping and praying he'd show up, You expected him to show up to your job like he usually did, but when he didn't it made your frown deepen even more.

You sat on the couch, the tv off, staring at your phone waiting for a message. You snatched your phone off the table, your brain still playing ping pong with the idea of calling him.

So when his line was ringing your heart pounded in your chest. "What?" Simon answered the phone, his attitude on ten. "Where are you?" You said softly, "I'm at johnny's like I told you." He said as if you were a headache. You bit at your acrylics, "Are you coming home?" You muttered, Simon sighed, "Dunno know." He replied, "Can you?" you responded wearily. "I'll see." He sighed again, hanging up.

You waited all night, there was no text message no call, nothing. You cried all night (drama!!! like girl he's gonna come back jesus christ.), You woke up with puffy eyes and dried tears in the corners. You throat was dry, you looked a mess. You got ready for work, putting loads of makeup on and fixing your hair, listening to sad love songs. You ate a quick snack (a quick quick snack !) and went on with your day.

Not one text message or call, not even a bouquet of flowers like he normally does.

#biker!simon #baddie!reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost riley

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bubuslutty · 6 months

Text

alt!gf x comics nerd!könig

Imagine an awkward comic book nerd König with an alt!gf way out of his league (according to him).

He works part time at a comic book store when he first meets her, he's in a corner arranging comics and manga when she walks in and his eyes widen behind his messy ginger long hair.

She's the prettiest girl he's ever fucking seen in his life and he can't take his eyes off of her. And so do the rest of the clients and workers in the shop.

She's wearing a tiny black baby tee with Miles Morales' Spider Logo on its front, the tee was tight and it looked like she didn't wear anything underneath it, and it was very short, that if she kept stretching her arms above her head too many times to reach for comics in the higher shelves, her shirt is bound to ride up to expose her nipples. Her stomach all down to a few inches below her belly button were naked, and a pair of tiny jean shorts hugged her waist and ass.

Then there was the jewelry, the chains, the arm warmers, gloves, leg warmers, mismatched socks with a pair of white and red Jordans, the headphones, hair clips and cute earrings that tied her outfit together.

She looked like a doll, like those pretty girls you'd see on Pinterest (König doesn't know that, though, bold of you to assume he uses Pinterest).

And König? Well, he was wearing a green t-shirt with the store's logo on the back and front, with a white long sleeved shirt under it, paired with a pair of loose ripped jeans and we'll worn white trainers. And finally, a black mask covering the lower half of his face.

She walked straight to the Marvel shelf, looking around with her hands crossed over her chest while humming until she gasped and got her hands on a comic with Spiderman 2099 plastered on the cover.

König tried his best to stop staring like a creep but she was just so hypnotising, he wanted to keep looking at her, maybe ask her name, what she likes to read–

Don't get ahead of yourself, König, have you seen her and seen yourself?

König's shoulders slumped as he watched her flip through the comic with a smile on her glossy lips, and his heart jumped when she met his eyes.

Shit.

König internally panicked and turned his head towards the shelf he was organizing and adding in new comics to be sold while his heart beat quickly in his chest. He gulped and his hand trembled when he heard shuffling and footsteps getting louder towards him over the sound of some random anime opening from the speakers in the shop.

"Excuse me?"

König tried not to flinch and slowly turned around and looked down at the owner of the voice, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face when he was face to face with the same girl he was gawking at.

"Yes?" König replied, masking his nervousness with a monotone voice.

"Can you get me a comic from the top shelf? I can't reach.." She asked, looking him over not so subtly and tilted her head to the side, adding a small, "Please?" at the end of her sentence.

"Where?" König asked and her eyes lit up. She turned around and led him straight to the shelf and told him the comic she was after as König easily reached for it and handed it over.

"Thank you," She smiled and took the comic from his bigger hand, their hands brushing as he kept watching her through his hair.

"Do you read marvel comics?" She asked and König was surprised, what is she doing?

Making conversation with him?

But girls usually got intimidated by his build and his personality.

König cleared his throat and shoved both of his hands in the pockets of his loose ripped jeans, "Sometimes."

"Do you have a character you like reading about? You don't have to answer if you have work to do, by the way! I'm just curious and want to read more comics about different characters!" She said, toying with the Lego spiderman keychain hanging off her belt hoop, pulling her shorts a bit lower and König looked away when more of her lacey red panties were visible.

"No it's alright. I have time. I like reading about Venom and Moon Knight. And you? Who do you like reading about?..." König answered, his voice not wavering, not even once even if he was screaming in his head.

He hopes he won't scare her away due to the lack of emotion and interest in his voice, but he was internally nervous and that's the only way he knows how to hide it.

But it seemed like the pretty girl wasn't phased nor intimidated by König's tone of voice, or how he literally covered her in his shadow.

"I really like Moon Knight! And Venom too! But obviously, Miles Morales' Spiderman is my favourite…" She excitedly told him and pointed at her chest, where Miles' graffiti Logo was.

"What's your name, by the way?" She quickly asked, and König was a bit overwhelmed.

"König." He answered without thinking and blinking, staring at her with his pale blue eyes.

"Hey, König." She giggled and told him her name as she hugged the comics to her chest.

König didn't know what to say except give her an awkward nod.

"Nice to meet you. I'll go pay for these. And uh, thanks for the help." She said, biting her lower lip and fluttering her pretty eyelashes at him.

"No worries." He said and stepped aside so she could make her way to the till.

König was left buzzing and slightly breathless, he blinked and turned around to face a shelf with Batman runs to compose himself while she paid for her comics. Then he felt a small tap on his back and turned around.

"Sorry I just wanted to give you this." She said while holding a hair band in her hand.

König stared down at her hand without saying anything then back up at her face.

"It's for your hair…" She said in a small voice and König didn't say anything, just stared at her.

Then she coughed, "I just thought– I'm so sorry for overstepping, I'll go now."

König moved without thinking and held her wrist, making her eyes widen like a deer caught in the headlight.

"Thanks." He said and took the hairband, making quick work of tying his hair in a manbun, and now she could see more of his face, his pale eyes, eyebrows, freckles and small scars.

She smiled a bit and gave him a nod, "Bye, now."

"Bye." König said, smiling behind his mask.

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themidnightcrimson · 1 year

Text

palette ࿏ wm

summary: in which your mother commissions a renowned painter to paint your portrait.

words: 6.0K

warnings: top!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), lots of tense gay ogling, so much sexual tension, minor use of paint in sex, very victorian era girlie themed, mentions of men (scary!)

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

Your mother was being incredulous about the situation. Time and time again, you tried to convince her that you were not the marrying type, that she need not go to her extreme ends to find you a husband. Whether it was showing you off like show cattle at parties, offering to pay men to marry you with money or titles, or throwing you at the nearest man around, which one time ended up being the innocent post boy, she was relentless in marrying you off.

Any time a man did take an interest in you, which was not unreasonable due to your fair beauty and youth, you hated and despised him and dwindled down his integrity until he ran away like a dog clutching the remnants of his masculinity between his legs. Relief was momentary, for once you ran one off, she only brought around another.

Her new tactic that she invented in that stubborn little head of hers was to commission a renowned painter to paint your portrait to be hung in the halls of your wealthy home. With all the parties and dinners she hosted so desperately often to cling to her respected name in society, she thought that surely a young man would see the portrait of her jeweled and beautiful daughter and demand to own her. Of course, your mother demanded the best, so she hired the infamous Maximoff artist to paint your portrait.

“He will be here any minute,” she whispered behind you as she violently tightened the strings of your corset until you felt your stomach was tucked inside your ribcage.

Taking a shallow breath, the deepest one you could breathe, you looked down at the emerald green dress. It was a beautiful dress, sure. Gold lace crawled over the green corset at your waist, and the green parted at a low point in your bosom, opening wide to reveal your entire chest, metal wires ensuring that your breasts were pushed up and on full display. One thing about your mother was that she hid no tricks. You were her trick, and you were sure she would have you painted naked like a whore if it meant having a son-in-law and grandchildren.

“Mother,” you gasped when she tightened the corset even further, struggling to breathe. “Do you not expect a common man to want a wife who breathes?”

“Hush,” she snapped as she tied off the strings at your back. The dress’s intricate under-weavings made sure that your hips looked wider than your own intellect. Most of the time, you liked to prance around in delicate underdresses in which you could breathe and move freely. This dress, with its constricting corset and heavy hips and layers upon layers of white underskirts, made you feel like you were standing with your head in a noose.

“If he’s such an excellent painter, can’t he just use his own imagination about what I’m wearing? That’s what most men do in their heads, anyway.”

“Mr. Maximoff is the most respected artist in the country,” she breathed, circling you to look you once over. Her hands went to the breast of the corset, trying to lower it down even more.

“Mother!” you shrieked, widening your eyes at her and tugging the fabric back up. “Why are you trying to make me look like a whore in front of who you say is the most respected artist in the country?!”

“He’s Sokovian,” she argued. “They’re exotic.”

You rolled your eyes at her bitter distaste for foreigners, and if you could breathe, you would have let the venomous words roll off your tongue.

“Besides, even if he doesn’t paint you as a doable wife, perhaps he would graciously take you himself.” Her eyes flickered up to your hair which was swooped high up on your head, a few curls of your hair hanging over your cheeks. The earrings on your ears were heavy, and the jewels on your neck were even heavier. You felt like your outer bearings weighed a thousand pounds and were crushing your frail body with every passing second. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to die in that moment, you certainly did, but you would be damned if it was in such a ridiculous outfit.

A housemaid rushed into the room suddenly and declared, “The painter has arrived.”

Your mother nearly slapped you across the face with how fast her hands went to fixing your hair. “Send him in!”

There was a hesitant look on the maid’s face, but she left with her hands fumbling together. Your mother turned your shoulders towards the door, harshly slapping your lower back to make your back straighten. You sighed, feeling anxious at how little you could breathe. You grabbed at your neck as if that would help you breathe, but your mother slapped your hand away. “Don’t fidget.”

She stood next to you, her hands posed at her front, a wide smile on her face. You were pretty sure that she wanted her men to desire herself as much as they desired you, and sometimes you wondered if you might marry a man just so he could fuck your mother and get her out of your own ass.

“Smile,” she whispered, but that was one thing she would have to slap across your face before you ever would.

The door to the library opened slowly, and you could feel your mother’s excited breaths beside you. A booted foot stepped into the room first, your eyes following the body that stepped through. A leg clothed in wide grey trousers, a frilly cream blouse tucked into the pants. You were offput by a mane of long, wavy brunette hair, though your first instinct was maybe Sokovian men donned long hair as a cultural preference. But when you saw the face that glowed into the room, those viridescent eyes, sharp cheekbones with a feminine curve, supple pink lips, your own lips fell open as you realized that Mr. Maximoff was, in fact, a woman.

You thought your mother was going to spontaneously combust in a theatrical display of steaming, rageful sparks. You looked over at her—her eyes were glancing down the woman over and over again, trying to figure out how in the world this person could possibly be a woman, this person who she had built up to the be the key to breeding her own daughter.

You couldn’t help but gleam at the impossibly devastated look on her face. This painter was a woman standing here in pants, holding an easel with a canvas under one strong arm and a bag full of paints in the other.

“Mr. Maximoff?” your mother gasped stupidly.

By the look on the woman’s face, you could tell this wasn’t the first time. “Ms. Maximoff. Wanda.” She stepped forward, setting her supplies down on the floor. “It is a pleasure to meet you and have the honor of being commissioned by your name.” Her Sokovian accent was thick and velvety. She came closer, holding out a hand to your mother. She eyed it like it was a snake, but took it, and Wanda shook her hand like a man.

Her snakelike eyes flickered to you. “I presume this is your daughter—my subject?”

“Uh…” Your mother began, her eyes focused on the shape of Wanda’s breasts under her shirt as if in disbelief. “Yes, this is my daughter, y/n.”

Your eyes were trained on Wanda’s. They were looking at you pointedly, a little wide, soaking up every inch of your presence as if you were the only source of light in the room. Her lips curved into a coy smirk. “Pleasure,” she gently spoke, reaching for your hand. You gave it to her, expecting her to shake it, but she gently turned your palm over, her thumb tracing the soft skin on the back of your hand, before she lowered down and pressed her lips there.

It became even harder to breathe as the woman rose back up, the feeling of her lips still tingling on the skin of your hand. “You are as beautiful as your mother spoke of you.”

For once, you actually smiled without your mother forcing you to. Wanda stepped away, looking between you and your mother expectantly. “Well, shall I get to work? I do charge by the hour.”

Your mother was in some sort of trance. “Oh, um… Sure—well, you see Mr.—Ms. Maximoff—”

“Wanda.”

“… Wanda. I was, admittedly, under the impression that the painter I commissioned to paint my daughter’s portrait would be a man. Are you sure that you do not have a father or brother by the same name, or even a husband, who can come instead? You see, this portrait is going to be very important to me. I intend to show my daughter’s beauty and wealth so that I can find her a proper husband, and given that is such an important cause, I need a painter with the highest skill and artistry to do it properly.”

Wanda only blinked. “There is no other Maximoff but myself. I understand your concern about this portrait, but I ensure you that my skill and artistry will serve the best purpose for your daughter, though her beauty so obvious that even a street painter could convey it.” Her eyes flickered to you again, drawing up another smile on your face. It was funny how she was painting your face without even holding a brush.

Your mother’s eyes danced around uncomfortably. “Well…” She paused, looking over Wanda once again. “Alright.”

“Shall we do it here?” Wanda asked, pointing towards a sofa that sat in the corner of the library against a beautifully wallpapered wall.

“Alright,” your mother said reluctantly. Wanda instantly went to work, setting up her easel and canvas in front of the sofa. She then turned to you, holding out her hand with that sort of smirk on her face. “Come.”

Hesitating, you stepped forward, sliding your hand into her soft, gentle one. She led you over to the sofa, gesturing you to sit, holding your hand until you were fully seated. You squirmed a little as she looked down at you, her eyes appearing darker now that she was turned away from your mother who stood watching with nervous eyes and fidgeting hands. Wanda was staring down at you with an unreadable expression, and when your mother cleared her throat in the silence, it seemed she almost forgot she was there.

Wanda turned to look at your mother, clasping her hands behind her back and taking a few steps towards her.

“My lady, I do find my creative focus more intent when in the presence of only my muse and myself,” Wanda spoke confidently. Your mother was obviously taken aback by this, as if she had expected to watch the entire process, her hand of control over every little thing. She liked to think she was God, or at least God of your world and everything that had to do with you.

“Oh—are you sure?”

Wanda smiled graciously and nodded.

Your mother looked between Wanda and you reluctantly before finally nodding and stepping away. “Well, if you need me, you can ring the bell for the maid.” She paused again, waiting to be told to stay, but Wanda only stared at her, so finally she left, closing the door gently behind her.

You could breathe a little easier now that your mother wasn’t in the room. Wanda sighed and turned on her heel to face you. Your back straightened instinctively under her prolonged stare, your eyebrows creasing to try and figure out why she was staring at you with her head tilted as if you were already a painting hung in a gallery.

“Confusion doesn’t look good on you, darling, and it surprises me so that anything could not look good on you,” she smoothly murmured, taking slow steps parallel from you. She disappeared behind the easel before reappearing on the other side of it, her eyes still trained on you.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “You’re staring at me.”

She blinked, a smile widening on her face. “I’m supposed to paint you. How can I do that without ever looking at you?”

Your face warmed a little, eyes darting down to the floor. She made a noise with her tongue before she went over to the large window of the grand library, pulling on a chain to close the thick, heavy curtains until the room was blanketed in darkness. You could hardly see anything now—you heard the fumbling of things and the striking of a match before a golden light emanated from the table nearby. Wanda had lit a candle, bringing the match near her lips and blowing on it to put it out.

“What are you doing?”

She walked to the other side of the sofa where another smaller table was and lit a candle there too, so that now you were blanketed in a soft, orange huge.

“This painting is to attract men to you for the purpose of marriage, correct?” she asked as she blew the second match out. “What’s more attractive than dim lighting under the intimate glow of candles?” Her eyes, darker now, flickered to you as she walked back to her easel, dragging a nearby stool to the easel and lighting one last candle there so that she could see her work.

“How sensual,” you remarked, to which a hidden smile curled on her lips, shadowed by her hair.

Wanda reached into her bag and brought out a palette, a tin can of brushes, a jug of water, and several bottles of paint, placing them all on the stool beside the easel. You expected her to just be quiet and start painting, but she walked towards you. Your chin rose to keep your eyes on hers as she neared you, looking down at you analytically.

“Sit back a little,” she said softly, “So your back is against the cushion.” You did as she said, scooting back until you could sit up straight with the support of the cushion. “Good. Now, your hands…” She looked at where you had placed them, lying mindlessly on either side of your lap. “What are we going to about those?” She smirked again.

“What do you mean?”

“Hands are as integral part of a portrait as is the face,” she tilted her head and leaned back, imagining your visage as a whole. “Cross them over your lap.”

You plopped them over each other on your knees, expecting that to be good enough, but when you glanced back at her, she was trying not to laugh. “What?” you asked defensively.

“Nothing,” she said, her Sokovian accent edged with amusement. “Here.” She knelt down in front of you, gently taking your wrists into her hands. You held your breath as she positioned them very particularly over your lap, trying to ignore the way her fingertips grazed the fabric of your skirt and left wrinkles in the fabric there, indentions of her touch. Her hands touching yours so delicately was sending jolts of electricity up your spine. You blasphemed yourself for being so shy of a simple touch, from a girl, nonetheless.

Once she had your hands positioned the way she wanted, she stood back up and assessed your top half. You caught the way her eyes fed upon your chest for a brief, startling moment before she looked up to your face. “Sit up a little straighter.” She put her hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you to sit up, her fingertips sliding to your upper back. You grew bothered at how handsy she was being. Her hands moved to your face, adjusting the curls of hair that were left out of your updo. Her face was close to yours now, her cool breath fanning across your mouth and leaving you no room to breathe, a heat forming under the skin of your face.

You recoiled suddenly, and she looked at you with unnerved eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

Her sudden change of confidence at the thought of somehow paining you by moving your hair eased your discomfort a little. “You’re reminding me of my mother. Always picking at me, fixing me.”

Her lips pursed together. “Your mother fixes you to her liking. I’m fixing you to yours.”

You eyed her suspiciously. “I haven’t said a word to you about any of my likings.” You noticed how quiet you were speaking, how quiet the room was, how close you were together in the corner of the large room.

“You don’t have to. I can tell,” she whispered with a crawling smile, adjusting your hair one last time before finally moving away from you. “Now, just sit.”

“Seems simple enough,” you breathed once she was finally behind her easel, trying your best to stay still.

She picked up her palette and started mixing paints and water, tussling through some brushes before finding one she wanted, and you finally heard the scraping of her brush on the canvas. You would have much rather been behind the easel with her, watching with as much curiosity and intrigue as you had then as she worked, than be sitting still like a lifeless doll as her eyes stared at you.

After several minutes of having her look between you and the easel, you started to get uncomfortable. The corset was still restricting your breath, and it felt impossible to keep your hands completely still. The dress was making your back hurt, and the painful silence and the feeling of Wanda’s eyes constantly on yours was enough to make you go mad. You hadn’t even realized that you were starting to squirm, accidentally moving your hands and your position.

You heard a sigh which led you to look back up at Wanda. She set the palette down, along with her brush, and stepped out from behind the easel, pacing back and forth with her eyes set upon you in a sort of disappointed and confused stare.

“What?” you blurted, feeling offended that somehow she thought you couldn’t even just sit to her liking. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re fidgeting,” she said with more seriousness, her artistic focus shining through.

You looked down and realized that somehow over the course of a few minutes you had completely lost the original position she had you in. You sighed, deflating as sharp pains ran up your torso. “I’ve never been painted before.”

“Well, it’s an honor to take your portrait virginity,” she countered with a little smirk, ceasing her pacing to stand staring at you with a tilted head.

A searing hot blush fled to your cheeks. “You speak like a man.”

“You’re sitting like one.”

You realized you were lounging disgracefully on the sofa with your back hunched and legs open. Snapping your legs shut, you groaned and laid back on the sofa dramatically. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t want to be painted?”

“No! And I don’t want to be married off to some bastard and bred like swine until I die. I cannot breathe without her trying to stuff me into a man’s side like an armpiece. I cannot breathe with her constantly in my ear speaking to me how I should talk better, walk better, sit better, stand better, look better. I cannot breathe—I just cannot breathe!” You leaned forward suddenly, feeling faint and gasping for air, clawing helplessly at the front of your corset whose fabric was stuck to your skin.

Wanda neared you calmly, holding out a hand in front of your face. Still gasping, you looked up at her, eyes falling to her hand. Feeling helpless, you slid your hand into yours and stood to face her. You realized then suddenly just how beautiful she was, with her full mouth and sharp eyes that were always piercing into you. Without speaking, her hands slid over your shoulders and smoothly turned you around. You froze, confused about what she was doing until you felt her fingers at your back and the sound of strings being undone.

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimed, knowing how long it took your mother to zip you up in that dreadful thing and how, if she knew you had undone it, she would tie it up even tighter.

“I cannot paint you like this,” her husky voice spoke close behind you. “You look dead in this dress.”

“God,” you breathed as she tugged at the strings, causing your body to move with her force. “That’s an interesting way to call someone ugly.”

“You are not alive like this,” she explained, “I can tell that this is not you. This is only a shell, a makeup of your mother. I am not here to paint your mother—I am here to paint you. My muse has to be completely herself, with no facades or lies. I need to see you as you are, truly and honestly. And also, you do look two heartbeats away from death by asphyxiation in this damned thing.” With a forceful tug, she ripped the back of the corset open so forcefully that your body was yanked backwards towards her, but she caught you, hands firmly on your waist.

You gasped in a full breath of air, and although it was a dusty library, it was the freshest breath of air you had ever taken. You were leaning back against her chest now, strands of her brown hair over your chest. Her hands holding your waist slid upwards a little, your body shivering at the feeling.

Her mouth was close to your ear as she whispered, “I’m going to undress you as gently as I can…” As her breath fanned against your ear, alighting all kinds of nerves in your spine that you’d never felt before, her hands slid around the front of your abdomen. “But forgive me if my creative expressions make me a little…forceful.”

She punctuated her words with an aggressive tug on your corset, which made you gasp sharply. She peeled it off your upper body, grabbing at the hips of the dress and tugging it down, also, bending and pulling all the green off your body until it was pooled at your ankles in a pathetic lump of fabric. You turned your head, looking down at Wanda who was crouched at your calves and staring up at you with parted lips and seductive eyes.

Wanda’s hand snaked around your smooth ankle first, cupping your shin as she started to rise, moving back around to behind your knees, lifting up your layers of underskirts as she went. She rose up behind you now, dragging her hand all the way up your leg under your skirt until it was on your hip, centimeters away from your bum.

Your heart was beating fast in your body that was growing warmer even without the top layer of clothing now. All that was left was the white slip that covered your body and the second underskirt.

“I need to see the real you, detka,” she spoke, Sokovian accent think and sensual in your ear.

You could smell her strong perfume of fig, her soft hair tickling your shoulders. You couldn’t believe that this woman had just ripped your dress from you and had you standing in barely any clothing that you wouldn’t even let your mother see you in.

“How can I convey you on canvas if I don’t know you?” She whispered, and the slightest graze of her lips against your ear sent a jolt down your body.

Her fingertips went to your shoulders, tickling your skin as she guided the thin strap of your slip down your shoulders, bringing you to shiver.

“Wanda,” you breathed, unsure of what you wanted to say. Sliding her hands over your skin, keeping her touch on you, she circled you, coming in front of you to look into your eyes.

“Trust me, detka,” she whispered, “I’m a master of the arts. I know what I am doing.”

That she did, with a smirk as she slowly pulled your slip down. You tried to stand confidently under her gaze and touch, but when you felt the silky fabric catch over your breasts and then fall below to reveal them, you gasped desperately for air. Her eyes flickered down, feasting upon the sight of you with utter desire and sensuality. Her mouth was open, lip nearly trembling as she pulled the slip down over your intimate stomach, and then pushed it along with the second skirt off your hips so that you were standing bare and entirely naked in front of her.

“Beautiful,” she breathed with ragged voice. “So… fucking beautiful.”

The vulgar word pierced your spine and made your body heat even more. Your skin was flush and pink under the close, golden hue of the flickering candles, that same unsteady light revealing Wanda’s bulging pupils and darkened irises. She was devouring you with her eyes, and through the lust you saw the creative plates molding perfectly together in her mind.

“Lay down,” she said with faltering voice, clearing her throat as she guided you to the sofa.

No one had ever seen you naked before, and you kept that thought in mind as you carefully climbed onto the sofa, her hand on your lower back leading the way. “On your back,” she demanded, but suddenly she caught you before you laid down, reaching into your hair and undoing it with one pull of a pin. Your hair flooded down your shoulders messily, and you gasped, knowing just how undone you looked. Was she going to paint you like this? In the nude? You knew that was far from what your mother wanted in the portrait, but your mother was even farther away from your thoughts as the Sokovian artist’s hands guided you to lay on the sofa.

“Move on your side slightly,” she instructed, voice taught with many different emotions you couldn’t completely discern. You were halfway on your back and halfway on your side, some of your hair over your chest and some of it cascading down the arm of the sofa above your head.

Finally, she stepped away from you, and you thought you would feel cold without her touch, but her eyes were enough to keep the fire broiling in your stomach alive.

You were sprawled out on the couch like a whore. One leg reaching over the other end of the sofa, the other one halfway off the edge of the cushion. One arm laying on the cushion lifeless, the other one reaching across the top of the sofa. You were wearing nothing but the thick jewels on your upper chest and the earrings hidden behind your hair except for a few twinkles where the light shone through the strands. The golden light of the candles sparkled on the erected rosy peaks of your breasts, flickered off the skin of your stomach.

“Perfect,” Wanda said, grabbing a towel that she had laid on the stool and casting it over her shoulder, her ravenous eyes not leaving yours as she picked up the palette and brush, beginning to scratch across the canvas madly, hardly tearing her eyes from yours.

Your chest rose up and down with the tension in your lungs. Something within you was throbbing at being laid out like this, having this sensual woman tear you apart with her eyes as she painted your likeness on the canvas.

The tension did not die with the silent minutes. It grew and built with every stroke of Wanda’s brush, with her every darting, overfilling look, with your every weak breath and throb of the multiple heartbeats throughout your body. It grew to a head until you felt like you were going to burn right through the cushions of the sofa like a soaring comet.

Every time her hand left the canvas to roll her brush into the pools of paint on the palette, her rings sparkled under the candlelight. There was a gleam on her skin, a craze in her eyes, a moistness to her lips that she repeatedly licked and bit. She was driving you mad without even touching you, and you could tell that you were doing the same to her with the way she painted the canvas so hard that it trembled on the easel.

Finally, without you having to even say anything, she dropped the palette and brush on the stool and dragged the towel away from her shoulder, eyes trained on your body. She had painted so wildly that there were smudges of color on the white sleeves of her blouse and covering her hands. She came to you so quickly that you didn’t even know she was there until she was knelt beside the sofa, placing a hand on your lower stomach.

Her hand sent a streak of color up your skin as she slowly slid it up your abdomen. Red, yellow, green, blue, all streaked together from her hands as she touched the smooth expanse of your skin.

“When I first came in,” she began in a tremulous whisper, “I knew it would be impossible to hold my focus while I painted your portrait.” Her hand swiftly curved around your breast and cupped it, relishing in the supple feeling of your flesh. Your eyes fluttered closed, legs mindlessly moving as she touched you shamelessly, and you let her. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I don’t even have to paint you to make you a walking piece of art.”

You didn’t know what to say as her compliments landed on your skin like warm raindrops and evaporated into your pores, seeping into you and imbuing you with warmth. She bit her lip as she looked down to your breasts which she fondled, rolling her thumb over your hardened nipples. Your skin there was covered in her paint now, colors mixing and melting on the warmth of your skin.

“Is this your creative expressions speaking?” you whispered to her, and she smirked and tilted her head.

“No, it’s just me.” Her eyes flickered to your lips, and without hesitance she leaned forward and kissed you hungrily. You moaned, and with your lips parted she dove her tongue into your mouth. Her other hand found your delicate neck and squeezed it, the cold paint smearing on your skin as her tongue explored your mouth with utter force and desperation, like she needed to know every single corner and texture of your mouth and tongue.

She clambered on top of you, pinning you down on the sofa beneath. Her hands went mad across your body, squeezing and rubbing you everywhere she could, memorizing every single curve and sweet spot that made you arch up against her. Her kisses trailed down your skin, sucking and biting harshly until she made bright red and purple spots that blended in with the paint she had already left there. She made a painted mess of you right there on those cushions, mercilessly sucking on your nipples and pinching them until you were squirming beneath you with desperate need, grabbing at her soft hair and shoulders.

“Wanda,” you moaned as she lowered down your body, leaving wet kisses down your painted stomach until she was at your hips. She growled, glancing up at your bare, marked body before her, lowering herself down between your legs.

“You’re the sort of art that needs to be worshipped,” she grunted as she ran her hand over your thigh, swiveling around it to yank it up over her shoulder. Crouched down, she parted your legs open, moaning at the sight between your legs. She had dwindled you down into a wet mess, and the feeling of her warm breaths fanning against you there did no good for how much you wanted her to touch you.

Most of the paint that was on her hands had been transferred to your body, so she brought her fingers to your slippery folds, groaning at how soft and wet you were. “No one has touched you before?”

“No one,” you whispered, looking down at the lewd sight of this woman between your legs, even her slight touch on your folds making you jolt.

“Let me be the first.”

“Please.”

She wasted no time in lowering her head down and placing her mouth over your slit, running her tongue up your folds and to your clit, circling it with exact pressure. The moan that escaped your mouth was foul, and you bucked your hips towards her face as she started to lap at your clit, pausing every now and then to purse her lips and suckle at it.

“Oh, Wanda!” you exclaimed, forgetting that your mother could be right outside.

Reaching her hand up your belly, she clasped it over your mouth to silence your moans. You held her wrist, nails sinking into her skin as you trembled beneath her.

“You must be quiet, detka. What happens between an artist and her muse, stays there,” she whispered thickly, her mouth glistening with your own juices. She brought her fingers to your clit, pushing into it before lowering them down to your slick entrance. She watched your every expression and movement of your body as she slid two of her fingers inside you slowly, stretching your virgin hole around their length and width.

Your muffled moans were under her hand as she pumped her fingers deep inside you, curling them to graze the inner sweet spots inside you. Your hips jerked as she lowered her mouth again to suckle at your clit while her fingers thrusted into you.

“You’re just as perfect inside as you are on the outside,” she moaned into your clit as she spread her fingers inside you, moving them more to just feel you than to pleasure you, but it certainly pleasured you all the same.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you cursed under her hand, feeling a coil spring tight in your lower belly. She trailed her kisses over that part of your belly, as if she could feel the tension there.

“You’re being such a good muse, such a good girl for me,” she whispered, rubbing your clit with her thumb as she squeezed a third finger inside you. “I’m inclined to take you away with me and make you the muse for all my work. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Living with me, a slave to my touch and my kiss, a wet little hole for me to fuck when I’m creatively and sexually frustrated. Wouldn’t you?”

Her thrusts were hard now, her voice snaky and thick. You whined and moaned pathetically under her hands, bucking your hips wildly off the sofa. You nodded to her question, burning at the way she laughed. “My little whore, letting me fuck her right here on the sofa, all naked and covered in paint.”

Wanda’s words twisted in your ears and wound you up even tighter, your inner walls squeezing around her fingers that pushed through them. She bit the skin of your belly hard, and with a few more pumps of her fingers, she wound you so tight that you snapped, the coil in your stomach breaking and unleashing screams and shivers of climactic pleasure and euphoria that blinded you. She talked you through it, praising you for being such a good muse, kissing your stomach and rocking her fingers more gently inside you.

You finally came down from your orgasmic high, knees trembling around her shoulders as she crawled up you, giving you a multitude of calming kisses all over your face. You sighed and looked at her with a shy smile, still struggling to catch your breath.

Grinning, she stepped back and looked at you. Your face was bright red with pleasure, a gleam shining off your skin, your body looking even more relaxed with the post-fuck glow that she had been craving to carve out of you from the very beginning. Grabbing her palette and brush, she eyed you from behind the easel, smirking under the candlelight that remarked her viridescent eyes.

“Stay just like that.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #lgbt #lesbian #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x y/n

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loveshotzz · 9 months

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap five/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Whiskey & Cigars

summary: Trying to keep your promise to thank Steve for fixing your sink, you aren’t expecting him to have company when you show up at his front gate after work.

wc: 5k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters but none really for this one. Drinking, cigar smoking, flirting and wait.. is that an almost kiss?? 🤭

authors note: the idea of this chapter is what sparked the entire series, i’ve been so excited to write this one and share it with you. I hope you guys love it, we’re half way through so you know what that means? (things actually start happening lol) But Leighanne, I want to date this older!eddie too! Guess what? You can in @carolmunson ‘s orange colored sky 🧡

🌇 <- chapter four ->chapter six

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The tune:

The box of tacos is warm in your hands, the package of cannoli’s you snagged on your way home from work moving around in your backpack as you step off the train. You take a shaky breath as you make your way towards your block, your feet taking you to his house. The nerves of him not expecting you has you talking yourself off the ledge the entire walk. Does he really like fish tacos? Was he just trying to be nice? What if he’s busy? What if he’s not even home?

Your overthinking is silenced the moment you hit your street, the string lights of his front porch catch in your sight, while the sounds of Eddie Money echo down the steps filling the quiet and hitting your ears. He was home, but he wasn’t alone.

You slow your pace when you get close enough to smell the smoke of his cigar, and hear the deep baritone of his full belly laugh. Another voice chimes in, it’s raspier, darker, and definitely not a woman’s. The unruly pang of jealousy that hits your gut subsides when you reach your apartment and he finally comes into view.

His hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it, the gray and honey highlights sticking out at the ends like he’s spent the whole night running those big hands through it. His cheeks are flushed with what looks like the end of a fun day with friends, a half smoked cigar tucked between his teeth that show themselves in a wide grin for the man sitting on his porch steps next to him.

He leans on the top step by his elbows,your thighs pressing together when the silver chain that’s usually hidden under his shirt swings over the soft blue tee that fits tight across chest when he laughs again. His cream jeans are loose fitting, stretching at his thighs with dark gray house slippers on his feet.

The guy next to him is not who you’d expect to find, he looks around the same age, gray streaks shining under the porch light in the dark curls that rest tied back in a loose low hanging bun. His chocolate eyes shine with excitement while ring and tattoo covered hands gesture wildly with his story, the ash at the end of his cigar is dangerously close to falling onto the wood of the porch.

Steve picks up the ashtray between the two glasses of a dark liquor like it’s second nature, lifting it up for his friend, making you notice the silver chain that dangles around his wrist when he takes the offering. He’s dressed in all black, a contrast to the light colors of Steve’s wardrobe with a pressed Judas Priest band tee that sits half tucked into the tops of his Chino shorts that fall right above his knee. Black socks and black slides covering his feet.

Bandit’s the first to notice you from his spot on the giant rug by the front door when you reach the gate. His ears perk as he sits up, paws dropping one after the other in excitement. A high pitch whine escapes him, catching Steve’s attention. Steve plucks the cigar from his mouth, looking at Bandit before finally following the dog’s line of sight to you. There was no getting out of this now.

You feel like you won some kind of prize at the size of Steve’s smile, lopsided with rosy cheeks pushed up and eyes crinkling in the corners. He sets his cigar down, ignoring the confused look his friend is giving him before sitting up, running a hand through his hair making it stand on end even more.

“She’s alive!” He does his best impression of Dr. Frankenstein sticking his arms out in front of him and you see the man next to him grimace before taking a puff and turning his attention on to you. Curious dark eyes watch Steve and Bandit go to meet you at the gate.

“Yes, I somehow survived.” You can’t help but giggle, making the man on the porch shoot his eyebrows up. All the nerve you worked up on the way here is gone when your neighbor gets close enough for you to see the stubble you like so much is back.

“I hope the Au Cheval burger helped with that,” he breaths with a smirk, his eyes landing on the to go box that’s threatening to succumb to the iron grip in your hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

Too caught up in how his eyes seem to light up when he asks, it takes you a minute to register that he’s talking about the fish tacos in your hand.

“Oh!! - Sorry - Yes, I didn’t know you had company tonight. I have cannolis in my bag too, I don’t wanna interrupt anything - I can, I can just leave them with you.” Bandit jumps onto the gate while you stutter your words, suddenly feeling sixteen again. The heat of his friend's stare makes you shuffle around in place.

Steve opens his mouth ready to protest but he’s interrupted before he gets a chance to say anything.

“Harrington! You gonna invite the pretty girl up for a drink or what?”

The heat rises to your cheeks as you busy yourself with scratching Bandit behind the ear with a free hand. Steve lets out a breath through his nose before pinching the bridge of it. His ears turning red like the cherries on the ends of the cannoli’s in your bag.

“Sorry about my friend.” He takes another beat before he looks up, his eyes smoldering against yours, hope hidden inside the golden specks. “I was going to actually ask you if you’d like to come up for a drink, I promise he’s harmless. He met his wife shopping at Trader Joe’s.”

You can’t hold back your laugh, not used to seeing this playful side of him- the sipper on his porch loosening up his nerves. His grin spreads wide at your reaction, and he’s opening the gate before you can even respond because he already knows the answer.

“I happen to love Trader Joe’s, Steve.” Narrowing your eyes at him as you make your way in. He takes the opportunity to grab the to-go box from your hands just in time for you to accept Bandit’s big paws.

“Bandit!” He hisses, stealing your move with a roll of his eyes at his rambunctious dog, closing the gate while you keep him distracted. “I’m more of a Whole Foods guy myself.”

“Of course you are,” you scoff with a condescending laugh, desperately trying not to meet the eyes of the man who’s been watching you this whole time.

“What? I like having a beer when I shop. Does that make me an asshole or something?” He tries to defend himself but he only validates you more and he knows it by the way you smirk at him.

He tries to act offended and not think about how cute it is that you haven’t stopped petting Bandit the whole walk to his front steps.

“Yes, it does make you an asshole.” The raspy voice from before interjects and you can’t hide from his curiosity when you both stop at his feet. A warm smile meets your eyes when you finally look at him, a puff of smoke exhaling through his pierced nose.

Steve’s eye roll is real this time.

“This is Eddie,” he sighs, introducing you to the mystery man, “We’ve been friends since high school, and he’s just jealous he moved to New York where you can’t shop and drink at the same time.”

Your cheeks push up at his banter, all the color in his face seems brighter tonight, his shoulders are relaxed. No longer constricted by a tight work shirt, or weighed down by loneliness - Steve is happy.

“Best friends since high school,” Eddie corrects him, setting his cigar down before opening his hands out for Bandit who abandoned you the second you reached him.

“Hi,” you greet, trying not to sound as awkward as you feel, silently begging for your next joke to land, “I’m Steve’s neighbor and I hate to break it to you, also Bandit’s new best friend.”

Eddie snorts, eyes twinkling when he catches the way your lips twitch when you hear Steve’s laugh next to you.

“I was wondering who he was ditching me for.” He narrows his gaze a little as he sizes Steve up who seems to be focusing on anything but his friend before choosing to set his sights on you.

“I’m going to go put these in the kitchen for now, I’ll grab you a glass. Thank you for this honey, you really didn’t need to.” His hand reaches out to squeeze your arm like after your hug the other morning. Goosebumps form under his palm when his thumb rubs the softness of your skin gently before letting go.

“It’s the least I could do, seriously you’ve been such a help.” You take your backpack off, the breeze making your shirt unstick from your back. “Don’t forget the cannoli’s.”

“Cannoli’s too? My, my Stevie boy. You must be quite the neighbor,” his friend chimes in, picking up his cigar again.

“Eddie,” Steve scolds just like he did Bandit, grabbing the pastries from you with an apologetic look that you wave off.

He stomps as he makes his way up the steps shooting his friend a glare. Eddie just smirks around the tobacco, leaning back with a raise of his eyebrows and a shrug.

The front door sounds heavy when it closes behind Steve, leaving the two of you alone. It’s quiet, but not for long, the gears in his head moving as he chooses his words before speaking. The crickets chirping in the grass and the hum of distant cars make your palms sweat.

“He must’ve done something real nice to get his favorite dessert hand delivered by his pretty next door neighbor.”

Your gaze narrows, a small smirk forming.

“I never told you I lived next door.”

Eddie’s smooth facade cracks for a minute when he realizes he gave away what he already knew about you, letting you know that Steve must talk about you.

“He fixed my sink if you must know,” you tease, letting him off the hook, unable to hold back the smile that takes over your face when he barks out a loud laugh.

“How neighborly of him,” he hums around his cigar.

The door’s opening before the conversation can go any further, a glass of the same dark liquor they’re drinking in Steve’s hand. Eddie catches the slight wrinkle of your nose at it chuckling to himself when you shoot him a look.

“I see he didn’t scare you off yet. That’s great.” Steve grins at the tattooed man, who smiles back with his teeth.

“I don’t know if I could have lasted much longer,” you sigh with fake annoyance, taking the glass from Steve, your stomach going off like fireworks on the fourth of july when your fingers brush, “Thank god you’re back.”

The laugh you earn has you wanting to make him do it again.

“Why don’t you take a drink of that delicious Johnny Walker Blue label I saw you eyeing when he brought it out?” Eddie raises his glass in a silent challenge.

Steve’s brows furrow when he looks at his friend in confusion, missing the way you’re scolding Eddie from behind his back.

“I would love to, Eddie, I thought you’d never ask.” You raise your glass in acceptance, already regretting it.

Placing the crystal to your glossed lip, the smell of it makes your gut churn with flashes of your hangover from the other night. You watch the realization wash over Steve’s face when the liquor hits your tongue in the smallest of sips.

“Oh no, that’s probably not what you want to drink after the other night, huh?” His concern dares to crumble when his lips twitch as he tries not to smile.

“Don’t look at me like that Steve!” Your own smile breaks through your embarrassment.

“Jesus Harrington, go take your girl to get something she’ll actually enjoy,” Eddie laughs, extending his hand out to take your glass, his own now empty.

Your girl. That’s my girl. Your face and neck heat up at the words again.

“It’s fine! This is okay, I can drink it!” You try to drive your point home by taking another sip, just for your face to give you away again.

“Honey,” Steve chuckles, taking the glass from your hands. “You don’t have to pretend to like it. I’m not offended.”

“I’m sorry, I just usually like something a little bit sweeter.” Your confession makes Steve’s cheeks dust pink.

“Of course you do.”

Steve’s place is intimidating, the overhead pendant light is dim in the entryway. Big paintings hang in perfect placements along his light gray walls that lead up a dark stained wooden staircase. The music is quieter inside, the smell of cedar hitting your nose from the crackling candle he has lit in the living room that you only get a small glimpse of as he leads you to his kitchen.

He flips the middle switch and only one set of overhead lights turn on, matching the mood of the rest of the house. You take in the giant island in the middle of the kitchen, white paneling that matches the tile below your feet, topped with black marble that sparkles under the low light. The box of cannolis you brought him sits in the middle.

He stops at the stainless steel fridge, shoulder blades moving under his shirt when he opens the door with a firm grip that makes his forearm flex, the harsh brightness polluting the dark. You both squint for a second letting your eyes adjust, the low hum of the fridge drowns out the way your heart beats in your chest.

You were in his house.

“Are you a margarita girl?” His voice is too smooth to startle you, something softer in it like this. His eyes meet yours with a lopsided grin in an attempt to soothe your obvious nerves.

“Depends on if you have salt for the rim.” Letting your back hit the countertop, you fake difficulty.

“Do I have salt for the rim? Please, honey. I’m not in my twenties.” He scoffs shutting the fridge with a lime and what looks like a homemade mixer in hand. The way you giggle for him makes him feel like he might have a chance.

“I’m just making sure is all.” You roll your eyes at him for the first time tonight, and he can’t wait to make you do it again. Addicted to the smile you try to hide, always giving yourself away.

“I’ll make it how you like it.”

He walks towards you, invading your space just enough to smell the way the spice of his cologne mixes with the expensive whiskey on his breath. Freeing his hands of the ingredients he looks down the hard line of his nose, glazed mossy eyes taking in your face like he’s never got to really do it like this before. The wild stray falls loose and your hand twitches at your side wanting to be the one to brush it away from his forehead this time.

“I promise.”

The twitch of his lips lets you know he heard your breath catch before walking away to get you a glass and a shaker. You exhale through your nose when you get a break from his attention. Was this happening? Was he flirting?

There’s a salt rimmed glass filled with crushed ice in his hands when he comes back, too lost in your own head you didn’t even hear him do all of that. He gets close enough for his shoulder to brush against yours, the tension making your fingertips buzz.

“This okay?” He asks, eyes avoiding yours as he slices the lime. “You zoned out a little, just want to make sure you feel comfortable is all.”

“Yeah - I - sorry, I kinda get lost in my own head sometimes.” You turn your body to face him, admiring the sharp lines of his jaw from the side, the hint of crows feet from years of laughter that meet the tip of his high cheek bone, the never ending expanse of freckles and moles that dot his skin. “I mean I could have kept those cannolis for myself and left, so what do you think?”

He snorts through his nose, measuring out the shot before pouring it in the glass.

“I ate one already.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye like a boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Steve! Dessert before dinner? What are you on vacation or something?” Your laugh makes his face light up, pouring the mixer a little heavy handed just for you.

“What can I say? I was craving something sweet." He makes sure to look at you when he says it, begging you to catch the double meaning before dumping everything into a silver shaker.

His eyes watch the way your bottom lip tucks between your teeth at his words to try and hide your smile before he starts the loud process of mixing your drink. You don’t look away from him this time, holding his stare. It pours out smooth over the ice when he’s done, squeezing another slice of lime for good measure over the top. Pushing it towards you, he leans on the counter with his elbow to watch.

“Let’s see what you think.”

You give him your best poker face, your fingers wrapping around the now chilled glass. Pieces of salt fall off the rim when you bring it to your lips. He straightens up, grinning proudly at the way your brows marry together when it hits your tongue. You can barely taste the tequila, the sweetness of the mixer hiding all evidence while the sour of the lime balances the whole thing out. It was the best margarita you’d ever had.

“Wow,” you finally get out after you’ve had enough, only to have part of your sip dribble down onto your chin.

“Careful.” He chuckles, taking the glass from you, his eyes meeting yours with something unknown swimming in them.

He gets closer — close enough to feel the heat of his breath fan across your lips, for the tips of his slippers to touch the tops of your sneakers. Your favorite stray still taunts you, begs you to take care of it but it’s his hand that raises first. The pad of his thumb swiping across your chin, cleaning up what you left behind.

“Is it sweet enough for you tough girl?” His voice comes out low, a question just for your ears.

Your answer is lost on the tip of your tongue when he brings his thumb to his mouth. Pink lips wrapping around it before sucking it clean.

“Steve - “ your fingers go to hook in his belt loops, your body demanding him closer before your brain can stop the movements.

“Hone-“ he starts, but someone clears their throat in the doorway.

Your hands drop expecting to hear the deep tenor of Eddie’s voice, only to be met with the silky softness of a woman’s.

“Steven! Who is this??” It comes out sweet like the drink he made, and it makes the man in front of you sigh. Whatever was going to happen is gone.

“This is my neighbor.” He gives, not trying to hide his annoyance, and when you turn around it only seems to make her smile more.

“This is Eddie’s wife Peach.” Steve introduces, finally running a hand through his hair and you can’t help the pang of jealousy that you didn’t get to do it.

Peach smiles brightly at you, extending a dainty hand and the rock on her wedding ring catches in the overhead light. She’s gorgeous and almost out of his league, but the way she gives Steve the same knowing eyebrow wiggle makes you realize quickly they’re a match made in heaven.

“Well now I want a margarita Steve.” She crosses her arms winking at you, relishing in the groan Steve gives her.

He wanted to kiss you, but bargained with himself that maybe this was the universe giving him the sign that it wasn’t time yet.

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” You don’t mean for it to sound so shy when it comes out of your mouth, but you needed a minute alone to catch your breath.

“Yeah of course honey, it’s just down the hall right past the staircase.” He points down the doorway you both came from, grabbing your fingers and squeezing gently before busying himself with making another drink.

You're halfway down the hallway when you hear Peaches in the kitchen.

“That’s her??”

The bathroom is smaller than you thought it’d be. It’s only a half, meant for guest use, that part is obvious with the lack of a shower inside. It’s still nicer than the one in your one bedroom, the crisp white towels that hang on silver racks look almost untouched. The deep stone sink in front of the mirror makes you feel like you’re in a spa.

You stare at yourself in the big oval mirror. He was going to kiss you, right?

You can hear the faint sounds of the two of them talking in the kitchen, choosing to stay hidden until the rate of your heart slows down to something less likely to make you pass out. Their feet shuffle against the wooden floor by the entryway before the sound of the front door opening hits your ears.

The light knock on the bathroom door makes you jump, his voice slipping through the cracks of it.

“Hey sweetheart, we’re going back to the porch. I’ve got your drink whenever you come out.” There’s a hint of worry in his tone, was he thinking about it too?

“I’ll be out in just a sec!”

He lingers by the door for a minute before you hear his heavy steps head outside. You take one more look at yourself in the mirror, straightening out your work shirt, and pulling down the ends of your skirt before turning around to check from behind.

“Okay, you’re cool. Just be cool. He was totally gonna kiss you and that’s fine,” you whisper to yourself before checking your breath just in case it happens again.

Your hand lingers on the door knob for a second before you finally work up enough courage to face him again.

🌃🌃🌃

The front door is cracked open when you emerge from the bathroom, their voices battling over the low playing music inside.

“What do you mean you haven’t asked her for her number yet Steve?” Eddie’s question makes you stop in your tracks.

“Can you talk any louder?” Steve half whispers and half yells, making Peach giggle.

“It’s obvious you both are into each other -“ Eddie starts again only to be cut off by his wife.

“I swear they were about to kiss in the kitchen, Ed.”

The way Steve stays quiet tells you that it wasn’t just in your head.

“Look, I just - I don’t know.” He sighs deeply, and you can practically see the way he’s probably running a stressed hand through his hair.

“Steve..” his best friend's tone goes soft, “It’s been long enough, you’re not a bad person for having feelings for someone again. You and I both know Emma would want that for you. I see the way you look at this girl, I haven’t seen you look at someone like that in over a decade.”

Since his wife.

Steve laughs a little and you hear the ice in his cup clink against the glass signaling him taking a drink before he answers, “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a second of silence and you wonder what his face looks like right now.

“Look, you’re going on that camping trip next week right? Ask her to water your plants or something while you’re gone, then you can get her number that way. That’s less scary right?” The teasing edge to Peach’s words are gone, she’s gentle with the way she speaks to him.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s a normal thing neighbors ask right?”

“Totally!” Eddie chimes in enthusiastically making you have to muffle your giggle.

You decide to open and close the bathroom door again to alert them of your presence when you feel like your eavesdropping has gone on long enough.

Steve clears his throat and you catch the end of his silent scolding to his friends when you step outside. He smiles but there’s something missing from it when he holds up your drink from his place on the porch swing, Bandit curled up at his feet.

“There she is!” He teases, desperately trying to bring the mood back to what it was before.

“I didn’t fall in if you can believe it,” your response comes out more awkward than intended, laughing nervously while taking your drink. You wonder if it’s obvious that you heard everything when you dare to take the spot next to him. Thighs and shoulders pressing together, your mind races with the new information.

Steve, your handsome older neighbor, the one who works for the Cubs, the one who drives a BMW to work every morning, the guy who fixes your sink and sends you dorky notes likes you. The weight of his guilt is the only thing holding him back from making a real move and it’s hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that the silly crush you’d been harboring is returned.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to comment on how long a lady’s in the bathroom Harrington?” Eddie teases breaking the ice, making Steve flush deep crimson from his neck to his ears.

“That’s not - that’s not what I meant,” he grumbles inside his glass, the smooth confidence from inside the kitchen now gone.

You squeeze his knee gently with a giggle, the thick hair tickling your palm.

Eddie takes control of the conversation for the rest of the time it takes you to finish your drink, Peach interjecting every now and then to roast him when he’s telling a story wrong. You half listen to as much of it all as you can, but it’s hard to focus when you can feel the way Steve keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye, turning away everytime you go to meet his gaze.

He keeps his thigh pressed to yours despite there being more than enough room on the swing, the sides of your feet tapping together on the porch. The heat of his body and the strength of the nice tequila hit after a long day all at once, a yawn escaping you in the middle of another one of Eddie’s bike trip stories.

“If I’m boring you just say something, jeez,” Eddie teases, a warm smile spread over his plump lips.

“Sorry!” Embarrassment warms your cheeks, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, “It’s just been a long day at work and I think the late night is just hitting me.”

“I’m teasing, kid. I have stories like these that I could tell for weeks. Go get some sleep.” He pulls his wife deeper into his side, her eyelids droopy like yours. “I think the Mrs is ready too anyway.”

Steve’s hand spreads over your back, the warmth of his palm rubbing up and down the dip of your spine making you hum.

“I’ll walk you home honey.”

🌃🌃🌃

Your staircase feels never ending, both of you slightly out of breath when you get to the top. Turning around at your front door to face him, both of you smile, trying not to laugh at the sheen of sweat on your foreheads.

“That seemed harder that time, no?” Steve breaks the silence sounding winded.

“I think maybe it has something to do with the liquor and the pastries, but I could be wrong.”

His laugh is booming, making you giggle while you try to shush him out of courtesy of your neighbors who are fast asleep.

“Sorry, sorry!” He whispers, a smirk that tells you he’s really not tugging at his lips, his eyes meeting yours the way they did in the kitchen.

You don’t know when he got this close or how your back ended up pressed against your front door. It’s silent between you, but the comfortable kind. Words not ready to be said out loud being exchanged through looks and the tips of his fingers brushing against yours.

“Thank you again for bringing me dinner, that was very sweet of you.” His voice is soft like his touches.

“It’s not a problem. It’s the least I could do really.” You look up at him from under your lashes, you’re ready for what was meant to happen in the kitchen now.

He hums a little to himself, interlacing your fingers with his. His eyebrows knitting together like he’s deep in thought.

“Listen, I’m going on this camping trip next week with Bandit. Peaches would kill me if I let those plants die, maybe you wouldn’t mind coming by once to water them? I can give you my number, that way you know, we can talk about details or if something else breaks in your apartment.” He lets out a shaky laugh, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“Gimme your phone Steve.”

His eyes widen and you can’t believe he’s shocked you said yes. He lets go of you to dig it out of his pocket, and you try to stifle a laugh at how frantic he seems.

You save your number under Tough Girl before handing it back to him with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth watching the way it makes his cheeks turn red when he reads it.

“I’ll - um text you with the dates,” he stutters a little slowly, backing away.

“You could also just text me.” You shrug and it makes him miss the top step, catching himself on the railing.

“Good to know.” The smile he gives you knocks the air out of your lungs. “Have a good night, tough girl.”

——

It’s only an hour later when you’re in bed, halfway asleep when you hear your phone buzz next to you. You wonder if he can see the way you smile like an idiot at your bright screen.

---

----

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

eddie munson edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

chapter six

#my writing #all i really want is you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington slow burn #older!steve harrington #older!eddie munson #eddie munson

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orchidsangel · 4 months

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MY BABY, MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY, SAY IT TO ME. (JT)

notes/cw ~ fluff, minor(ish) angst, fem!reader, talks of having a baby, idk i just had really bad dad!jason brain rot and i felt like i had to share it with my lovely angels, (2.3k)

The sound of laughter rings through your house like jingle bells during the holiday season, pitter patters of tiny feet tumbling against hardwood floors, and bigger ones chasing after them invade your ears. Squeals of laughter pour out through an open window as you pull bags of groceries out of the trunk of your car, the sound of running dying down when the trunk closes with a thump. "Is mommy home?" You hear a familiarly sweet voice say. "I think she is. Come on, let's see if we can beat her to the door."

Bags in hand, you walk up the pathway to the entrance of your house. The street of your suburban neighborhood, mostly empty on this chilly winter night, save for some residents walking their dogs before lights get turned off. The sound of a lock clicks before you're even halfway up the path, and soon after, you're met with Jason and your daughter standing in the doorway looking ridiculous, goofy grins on both of their faces. Red bows are hidden amongst his hair, some tied around short braids, some just hanging loosely on a few strands bunched together. Pink pajama pants peek out from under the red tutu she's wearing, and she dons pink ballet slippers on her feet as if she's about to perform the Nutcracker.

He steps outside, meeting you at the top of the steps, hooking his fingers under the canvas straps of your reusable tote bags—an investment you'd made to offset some of the carbon emissions from his bike—and takes them into his hands. "New hair, huh?" you ask, eyeing the variety of red satin ribbons tied in knots littering the expanse of his head. "Yeah, you like?" He asks, turning towards you, lowering his head a bit so you can get a better look. You roll your eyes, but there's a smile playing on your lips at the image of Jason sitting down while your daughter's tiny hands play hairdresser with bows and barrettes.

You close the front door behind him as he makes his way toward the kitchen to unpack the groceries, turning your attention to the little girl in front of you sporting a toothy grin. "I thought ballet ended hours ago," you say, eyeing the layers of bright red tulle you had previously hidden to avoid the specks of glitter that shed every time she moved. "She had to practice her pirouettes." you hear Jason say from inside the fridge. "Yeah, mommy. I was practicing my pirouettes." She pouts her lips and cocks her head to the side, small hands fidgeting as she tries to use cuteness to get out of trouble. You cross your arms and squint your eyes at her, "Uh huh. And the hair?" You gesture to Jason, walking toward you. "What does that have to do with pirouettes?"

He joins the two of you in the living room holding up a container of Gerber baby puffs, using them as a distraction to get both him and his little girl out of trouble. "What?" You ask, deadpan. "What d'ya mean what? We've got an infant I don't know about?" Your daughter gasps, eyes lighting up suddenly. "A sibling!" He laughs, turning towards you with a raised eyebrow. "No, you jerk. Him, not you, honey," you say, quickly correcting yourself. "They're for me." You snatch the container of blueberry-flavored rice puffs out of his hand, peeling off the lid and shoving a handful into your mouth. "God forbid women enjoy things."

You pop a few more into your mouth before feeling a tug at the coat you still hadn't taken off. When you look down, you're met with your daughter, mouth open and waiting for you to share. She stares at you with wide eyes, using your inability to say no to her to her advantage. Sighing, you raise the container a bit and pause, "Only a few, and you have to get ready for bed after." she nods her head, mouth still open, and you tilt and pour out a substantial amount. She closes her mouth and displays her adorable little smile once again before running off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. "Hold on," Jason shouts down the hallway. "Say thank you to your mom!" You hear feet running again, and soon enough, feel the soft squeeze of your daughter giving you a hug; she presses her head into your lower abdomen as you bring your hand up to softly stroke her hair. "Thank you, Mommy." She says before moving on to Jason and giving an equally soft hug despite using all her might. "And thank you, Daddy, for letting me do your hair." She lets go and scurries off again, leaving a trail of red glitter in her wake for you to clean up.

She disappears into the bathroom, and you watch the hallway, now empty, as she gets ready for bed. You sigh, listening to the sound of water running while she independently does her end-of-the-night tasks, something you'd still helped her with not too long ago. Jason's arms creep around your waist, pulling you against him. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you feel something tickle your neck, but you're not sure if it's his hair or a ribbon. He notices the solemn look in your eyes, a stark contrast to the liveliness he'd seen in you just a few moments ago. "What's wrong? Is it the glitter? Because I can clean that up." He says. "No, not that." You nibble on your bottom lip, lost in thought, trying to organize your feelings. "Just… she's gotten so big." He hums in acknowledgment, his way of saying he shares the sentiment. "I just don't know where the time went." You mumble, overcome with an unexpected sadness. "She's only five." He says into your neck, bringing his hands up to your shoulders and gently pulling off the coat you'd forgotten to take off. "Yeah, but she was just a baby not that long ago. I swear."

The both of you watch her move between her bedroom and the bathroom, soft dark brown curls bouncing with every movement. At five, she was already more responsible than most children her age, having a pretty concrete idea of right and wrong well before most kids do. Responsible for her age, but still just a baby in the grand scheme of everything, and sometimes the two of you would wonder if Jason's occupation might end up inadvertently affecting her and warping her idea of justice, but those fears were almost always disproven as soon as they came and oftentimes you didn't worry more than a few minutes. "We're doing a good job." He says from behind you, rubbing your back in an attempt to take away some of the worry. Normally, it would go away with ease, today, not so much. "We're not bad parents." You say with conviction, but you both know you're just trying to convince yourself of it. "We're not. You know we're not."

He turns you around to face him, away from the hallway, so you can't dwell any longer. His hands move to your upper arms, kneading gently as he searches for your eyes. "What's wrong? Talk to me." You struggle to make eye contact, unsure of your next words. "I think…I think I want another baby." You breathe out, looking down, unable to meet his gaze. Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes, and you barely breathe while you wait for his reaction. Not a single thing in the universe could've prepared you for the words that come out of his mouth. "Is that all? Is that what you were sulking about?" You look up at him, eyes wide, as he lets out a breathy laugh. Oh Jason, your Jason, taking your face in his hands and leaning down so he can look you in your eyes. "Don't scare me like that again, okay? Do you know how fucked up shit has to be for me to be the optimist out of the two of us?" It's your turn to laugh now, a weight having been lifted off your shoulders. "Language," you warn. "Aw, come on, she's way out of earshot." He bends down and presses his lips against yours; you close your eyes, leaning into him, hands finding his chest as you feel all of your worries melt away.

"Blegh."

The sudden sound of a disgusted child, your disgusted child, pulls you away from Jason, and you wipe your mouth in embarrassment. It's just your daughter, but you still feel like a kid who's just been caught stealing candy and is about to get lectured into oblivion; Jason, however, handles it with ease. Taking on a playfully stern tone and pointing an accusatory finger at her, he asks, "Why are you up, little lady? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She mirrors his action, pointing a finger at him now. "You didn't tuck me in or read me my bedtime story." He puts his thumb and forefinger on his chin, seemingly thinking it over. "Hmmm, seems you've got me there." He shrugs before picking her up into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "You've gone soft," you say with a laugh, the embarrassment of being caught having passed. "What can I say? She's bossy. Gets it from her mama." You nudge his shoulder lightly as he turns in the direction of her room. "Alright, that's enough out of you."

He leaves the door to her bedroom slightly cracked, and you can hear their whispers as they do their nightly routine of picking out a book to read, followed by her falling asleep in his arms. "What do you have in mind tonight?" He asks, laying her down gently on the bed adorned with princess sheets and stuffed animals he'd bought for her during trips around the world. "Can we finish Lord of the Rings?" She grabs her favorite stuffie, a gray bunny with droopy ears and button eyes, and holds it close to her chest as Jason climbs in beside her. "I don't think we can finish it, but we can fit a few pages in before it's time for you to go to sleep. That work for you?" He leans over the side of the bed and picks up a worn copy of Lord of the Rings that had been sitting on top of a stack of books he kept in her room solely for the purpose of bedtime. She nods her head at his question and snuggles further into him as he flips to the page they left off at.

You hear the sound of rustling and know the bedtime story has commenced, leaving you to clean up the mess of glitter and ribbons. Broom in hand, you start to sweep up the remnants of her "pirouette practice." Going up and down the hallway, sweeping back and forth. You catch a glimpse of the photos in the frames lining your wall before coming to a full stop and reminiscing about how far you guys have come. There were some pictures from when it was just the two of you, but most of those were kept digital, hidden amongst miscellaneous screenshots and disorganized photo albums. The majority of the framed photos came after she was born; something so special about being able to hold a photo of the three of you in your hands, to have it on display in your home proudly saying this is my family. Corny, maybe, but you'd never regretted starting the collection, especially since it had been Jason's idea. He'd been insistent that you keep a scrapbook to commemorate your ever-changing lives, but after realizing neither of you had the knack for cutting and gluing bits of paper onto pretty pages, you'd settled on the wall. Now, you look at them so often and always with fondness. Oh, how things had changed since that day, you'd met so long ago.

You don't know how long you'd been standing there, but you hear a door closing softly, and you turn to see Jason trying to make his way into the hallway with minimal noise. "Is she asleep?" You ask, barely above a whisper. "Out like a light." He says, joining you in front of the framed memories. A picture of her as a newborn, freshly discharged from the hospital, catches his eye, "she was really tiny, wasn't she?" He says, voice cracking a little as he remembers the overwhelming fear he'd experienced when you were in labor and how it all went away once he had held her in his arms. You hum in agreement as you both get lost in pictures of her from the past. Birthdays and holidays, family events and major milestones, there was a picture for everything.

There was one of her on his shoulders; she couldn't have been more than two at the time, her tiny fingers laced through locks of jet-black hair. You remember like it was yesterday; she had just watched Ratatouille and was trying to imitate Remy. He had played into it, and he couldn't get her off his shoulders for days after that. Another, taken from her first trip to the beach. You sit behind her, keeping her upright and holding her arms out, making one wave at Jason, who was behind the camera. You smile to yourself, the two of you standing outside of your daughter's bedroom, mostly content, remembering what it was like to have a baby in your arms. The memory of bringing her home floods his brain; how nervous he was yet so insanely happy he couldn't control the smile on his face. A shaky laugh falls from his lips as he pulls down a picture of the three of you still in the hospital, thumb pressed against the glass like he's trying to physically feel the moment. "Yeah…I could do it again."

been working on this almost non stop for 9 hours, literally my longest fic yet (only by like 600 words, but still !!!), special thanks to @kiyozu (my beloved) for giving me this idea !! eek, hope you guys enjoyed it <33 (user orchidsangel is going to sleep now) (also tried following up dialogue with actions this time, gonna see how that goes bc if it’s too hard to follow along with i’ll just go back to he said she said)

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd fic #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fluff #red hood angst #jason todd i’ll love you forever #divider by benkeibear

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ilovedilfs-444 · 1 month

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Lingerie 🎀

word count: 1.5k

୨♡୧

All day you had been thinking about the Victoria's Secret bag hidden away in the back of your closet, stashed behind one of your thick fur winter coats where you were sure Frank would not go looking.

Inside the striped bag, was a sexy lace thong and bra set in Frank's favourite colour, black. Baby pink bows adorned the two garments, adding your own personal touch to them.

Frank had been away on a work thing for the past few days, and the loneliness was killing you. Every time he went away on a job, he got a new burner phone, which you were only allowed to contact in case of an emergency, no exceptions.

But tonight was the night he was due home. All you wanted to do right now was order in your favourite takeaway, watch a movie with your boyfriend and then have hot dirty sex all night long.

The more you thought about Frank the more your mind drifted off to that pink striped bag stashed away in your closet. The angel on your shoulder was telling you the outfit you were wearing right now, grey sweatpants and a black crop top, was better and comfier than the sexy underwear set. However, the devil was telling you to go put that set on, add the white heels you knew Frank loved so much and surprise him as he walked in that front door.

You bite your lip just thinking about surprising Frank, having long steamy sex and then lounging around with takeaway food and movies for the rest of the night. The devil on your shoulder had just stomped on the angel's speech as you jumped up from the sofa excitedly and sped off to your bedroom.

You threw off your clothes into a pile in the corner of your bedroom, shoving the rows of shoes away to reveal the bag of goods. Grabbing it and pulling away the tissue paper at the top, you pull out the thong and bra and throw them onto your bed.

Pulling off your own panties, you watch yourself in your mirror, practising your seductive moves in preparation for your boyfriend. After putting on the lacy set, you felt nothing but the definition of sexy.

The white heels you had planned on wearing were suddenly outshone by the platform black heels sitting beside them.

"Hm, eenie meenie mynie... mo!" you point your finger at the black heels and stalk over to them, stepping into them and turning around to see yourself in the wall length mirror.

As your admiring yourself in the mirror, the sound of the old front door creaking open echoes throughout the apartment. You quickly grab the black silk robe hanging in the closet just as you hear Frank call out, "Y/n?"

You use your foot to open the bedroom door, leaning against the frame. You hadn't tied the robe fully, so your sexy underwear set was still on full show for Frank.

He had his back to you when you first saw him, but the squeak from the bedroom door caught his attention. As his eyes met yours, you could practically see the lust spilling out of them.

"Holy..." he mumbles as he pulls his black hoodie off his body. His t-shirt lifted up with the hoodie and you could see his defined abs in the dim living room lighting.

You stalked towards him, dragging your finger up your thigh and pulling up the bottom of your robe slightly. Your hair still lightly curled from the previous day.

"Like what you see?" you smile and stop a few feet in front of him as his eyes roam every inch of your body as if it were his first time seeing you.

"Fuck me.. I... You're so.." he fumbles over his words as he walks towards you, eyes not leaving your body. His brown eyes finally look into yours as he combs his fingers through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear.

"I love you so much," he mumbles as his hands caress their way down your body until they meet your hips, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his boner through his jeans, desperate to be let free.

You grab his hand and lead him towards the bedroom. He follows behind, no doubt staring at your ass or legs, oh how he loves your legs. You push him down onto the edge of the bed, standing in between his muscly thighs.

"And I love you too, Castle." You kiss his lips, softly at first until his hands tug at the shoulders of your robe, dragging it down your body and off your arms. He kisses your neck and chest, his hand groping your boobs. You let out a few soft moans as he kisses further down your chest and stomach. You could now clearly see the outline of his hard cock through his jeans, and decided to help him out.

You drop down to you knees so your face is in-front of his crotch, peering up at him with innocent eyes. You unbutton his jeans and teasingly slow begin to pull his zipper down, holding eye contact the entire time. He lifts his hips for you to pull the jeans down his legs further, and his cock was now tenting his boxers.

You kiss his boner through the thin black material, as your fingers tease at pulling down the band. He lets out quiet grunts as you kiss him, his eyes watching you the entire time. Finally, satisfied with your reading you pull his boxers down his legs and grab his cock. Your hands must've been cold as he jumped slightly when you grabbed him. Your tongue licks up the length of his dick, circling around the tip before taking his whole length in your mouth. When you come back up Frank's head is bent backwards in ecstasy. You repeat this several times until your eyes are full of tears and are sure your mascara is running down your cheeks from the length of him.

You stand back up to your full height and straddle Frank, wrapping your arms around his neck to stable yourself. He places his big hands on your waist and snaps one of the strings of your thong against your skin, a smirk playing on his face.

You move your thong to the side and lower yourself onto his cock, rubbing the head against your clit a few times before Frank guides himself inside of you. You lean your forehead against his as he fills you up, sending butterflies to your stomach. He waits a minute and kisses your lips sensually as you get use to his length, before beginning to bounce up and down on his cock. You moan loudly, not caring if the old woman who loves to make noise complaints about you and Frank, or if anyone walking by the apartment could hear. You were happy right now, and nobody could ruin that for you.

You can feel your thighs beginning to ache and Frank notices too, using his hands to guide you up and down his cock before he grabs hold of you and throws you onto the bed. He kicks off his jeans and boxers that had been around his ankles for the past few minutes.

He stands at the end of the bed and grabs hold of your waist, pulling you down so his cock is rubbing against your clothed pussy. With one swift movement, he grabs hold of the side of your thong and pulls it clean off, earning a gasp from you.

"Frank!" you say in shock but with a smile on your face.

"That's better," he mumbles before placing his hands under your back and unhooking your bra, pulling it away from your body. You sit up on your elbows as he takes in your body. Your beautiful, sexy body.

He grabs your hips and dips his head between your legs, grabbing one of your legs and throwing it over his shoulder. He licks a long stripe up your pussy, sending shock waves through your body when he his hot tongue came in contact with your clit.

"Fuck, Frank," you moan and place your hand on the back of his head. He looks up at you as he latches onto your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue across it. It doesn't take long before you can feel your orgasm forming in your stomach. Your grip on Frank's short hair tightens as your knees instinctively try to close the closer you come to your orgasm.

Frank uses his hand to hold down your leg and uses the other hand to finger fuck you. His thick fingers were something you could never get tired of.

"Frank I'm gonna... I'm," you try to mumble out the sentence but he speeds up his fingers and your orgasm untangles through your body, sending waves of pleasure through every inch of you.

Frank climbs further up the bed, using his knee to keep your legs open and lays his arms over your head, trapping you beneath him. His hot breath tickles your ear, sending butterflies straight to your stomach, "Ready for round two?"

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #the punisher

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angel-of-the-moons · 7 months

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Nectar

Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader!

TW/CW: NSFW, Fingering, Voyeurism (sorta), exhibitionism, dirty talk, grinding, biting, smut, Jake is a cheeky little slut we all know this

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is self-indulgent as fuck, to help get me out of the funk I've been in. This is also because I actually grow these flowers and some interesting things happen when you milk them. That and I love to tell people I milk flowers for shampoo, the confusion is great.

(Any Spanish in this fic is written in italics and largely translated by Google, since I still know only a tiny bit and don't know any Spanish speakers personally)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Jake dropped his duffel bag next to the front door, sighing as he tugged off his jacket.

It was a quiet day, thankfully, because Steven and Marc left him to control the body today, to allow him to front by himself without their "chattering" in his ear...

"Muñeca?" He called out.

When there was no answer, he tried for you again.

"Alguien en casa?"

His brow furrowed when he was met with silence. You were home, he was sure of it. Your car was out front, the front door was unlocked...

That's when he noticed it, the sliding glass doors were open.

Hairs rose on the back of his neck and he automatically suspected the worst. He pulled his gun out of his chest harness, turning the safety off and he slowly crept to the open doors, finger off the trigger.

Just in case.

He inched his head out just enough so he could sweep the corners of the back yard, surrounded with thick shrubbery and trees, and flowers of various sorts.

Until finally, he looked at the farthest and most shaded part of the yard.

There, hunched over, you were. Your hair damp and hanging in clumped strands around your face, what appeared to be sweat soaking your face, dripping down your neck, and into the valley between your breasts.

Your whole look was alluring, really. You were wearing your biker shorts, your boots loosely tied, your tank top rolled up to reveal just enough of the tantalizing skin he adored to touch so much.

Jake tilted his head, running his tongue along his teeth as he leered at you a moment longer, a familiar hot feeling settling in the pool of his belly.

Well, it had been a few days... too long for his tastes.

He then noticed something odd, next to you was a small pail, the kind you'd see a child using at the beach. The particular patch of flowers were probably the ugliest ones in his opinion. He made sure you knew it, too. They looked like pinecones without the prickly bits, conical in shape (obviously) with small blossoms poking out here and there as green faded into a bright red-pink.

When he asked you why the fuck you wanted those ugly ass things, you giggled and said "You'll see".

Jake grunted and put the safety on his gun off, holstering it and hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

He put his gloved hands in his pockets and walked into the patio, and over to you.

"I was wondering where you were." Jake hummed when he was close enough, tilting his head.

You looked up at him, and instantly you knew.

"Jake!" You said, breaking out in a grin as you stood, knees dirty. You slipped your arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek; but of course, Jake being Jake, he turned his head and caught your mouth, shoving his tongue between your teeth to slide against yours with a soft groan; one of his hands cupping the back of your neck and the other going to grip at your waist, slipping beneath your tank top, the soft worn leather sliding up your back.

The smell coming from you was almost heavenly. Sweet, a little earthy, but almost like a cologne he wore, ages ago. It was a good smell for you.

"Jake." You breathed, separating from him, pouting up at him. "Can't wait, can you?"

"Mmm." Was all he said, his hand at the back of your neck moving to tip your chin upwards, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.

"Well too bad, you horndog." You giggle, pulling away from him, to kneel back in the grass.

"What are you doing?" He sighed, pouting like a child as he crossed his arms.

"Milking the flowers, duh." You grin up at him.

"Qué? How the... how the fuck do you milk a flower?" Jake asked, his brow furrowing as he kneels next to you.

"Here, watch." You grab a hold of one of the heavy flower heads, gesturing for him to lean in as you put your tiny pail beneath the flower.

When Jake leaned in, you gave a sudden squeeze to the flower, and some kind of clear gunk shot out and splattered on Jake's face, right above his eye and dripping down his cheek.

You broke out in a fit of giggles when he fell back on his ass, furiously wiping at his face and spewing curses.

"You're jerking off flowers!" He hissed at you.

You cackle some more and gently squeeze the flower, ignoring his comment.

Jake hesitantly sniffed his hand and realized...

"Did you put this in your hair?"

"Mhmm." You hummed. "It's a natural shampoo and conditioner. It keeps your hair shiny and fluffy... helps with bug bites and it can apparently be used as a massage lotion."

"....Where the hell did you learn that?" He squinted.

"YouTube. I got bored one day. It smells good, though, doesn't it?" You smirk at him as he rights his position now, making direct eye contact as you ever so slowly work your hand up the flower, the clear nectar dripping down the soft skin of your hands, into the waiting pail below.

He felt his cock stir in his pants as you turned from him and moved back down the flower, and back up again, squeezing out every drop you could.

You grab the handle of the pail and lift it, revealing it had been tucked inside of another bucket the whole time.

"It does smell... okay." Jake conceded.

"Just okay? Jerk." You snort, as you reach for another flower to start draining it into the pail.

"Mmmmh." Jake hummed, watching your slick fingers grip the flower head.

"You can go inside, y'know?" You sigh as his fingers reach out and grip your damp hair softly, the nectar from the flowers soaking your hair, the shiny fluid clinging to his glove.

"Don't want to." He murmurs, standing on his feet, looking down at you.

You don't have to look at him to know that he's smirking.

"Seeing as how you won't go inside and leave me alone, here." You hand him the pail full of the clear liquid.

"Set this on the counter in the kitchen for me?" You bat your eyelashes for extra effect.

Jake rolls his eyes, still smiling and does as you ask.

As he set the pail down, he leaned his hip on the counter.

He had a rather painful hard-on now. Watching your dainty fingers work at the flowers, all he could see was your hands wrapped firmly around his cock slowly stroking up, your fingers playing expertly over the tip, just the way he liked it...

Jake sighed and walked back out, and seeing you bent over as you milked more flowers sent a thought through his mind.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

When you stood up, you were suddenly grabbed from behind, strong arms wrapped around your waist as lips sought the pulse in your neck.

"Jake." You sighed, your hand going up to gently grip his dark curls.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

It would have been innocent, a little cuddle and love nip.

If he wasn't grinding his hard cock into the curve of your ass.

"Jake!" You gasped when you felt one of his hands slide down the front of your shorts.

"No panties? Naughty girl." He grinned as he bit down at the soft spot in your neck, earning a moan that you had to swallow back down before it got too loud.

"Fff..." You hiss, looking around frantically as his fingers swipe over your clit, toying with the wetness in your folds.

"So wet for me. You're having more fun than you're admitting to me, muñeca." Jake growled, biting harder on your skin as he curls a finger into your waiting cunt.

"Jake! S-someone might see us!"

"Let em see."

Jake chuckled cruelly, shoving you forward into the large oak tree your flowers were planted around.

He turned your body until you were facing him, and he claimed your mouth, biting you lips and shoving his tongue into your mouth before you can protest, he pulls his mouth away from you, tugging the glove off his hand with his teeth, and shoved his hand down your shorts again and quickly pushed his fingers back inside of you.

He pressed the heel of his hand into your swollen clit and ground on it as he thrust and curled his fingers, making sure you writhed and squirmed; relishing in each contraction of your muscles as you gripped at the meat of his arm with your hands, biting your lip hard to stifle the moans.

You tried to focus on something, anything that wasn't your boyfriend's hand buried knuckle deep in your cunt.

You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your head back, choking back your whimper.

You tried to focus on the bark of the tree digging into your skin, the pebble in your boot you kept forgetting to take out.

But all thoughts were brushed aside as you felt your orgasm being pushed, and pushed hard.

Jake was never the kind of man to half-ass anything. Especially when it came to fucking you. Normally he liked to work you up slowly, teasing you and eating you out until your legs turned to jelly, before fucking you on the nearest available surface.

Right now he was needy, desperate. You weren't sure what got him so worked up.

You gasped, and when you opened your mouth, Jake shoved his tongue back inside it, swallowing your voice in a hungry kiss as your muscles clamped down, spasming around his fingers as he thrust them in and out, fresh slick gushing around his digits as he fucked you through your orgasm, leaving you breathless and jelly-legged.

Jake pulled away from you, grinning like a shark.

You panted heavily. "You... you fucking shit--"

Your voice went dead when you heard your neighbor call out your name.

You yank Jake's hand out of your shorts and shove him away from you, fixing yourself as best you could when she walked through the gates connecting your yards.

"Oh! Hey, Joyce!" You say awkwardly.

"I was wondering if you finished getting that nectar?" The older woman asked sweetly, completely oblivious to what she just walked into.

"I... ah. Yeah. I kind of knocked over the second batch but I have some inside I can filter for you?" You cough awkwardly.

"Oh! That would be so nice thank you, sweetheart." She tilted her head, looking at Jake. "Oh! I take it your boyfriend has been helping?"

Your eyes widened in mortification, and you looked at Jake's hand, shiny and still wet.

The bastard didn't even try to wipe it off!

Jake gave you an impish grin and looked at his hand, playing with the lingering stickiness as he looked at Joyce.

"Sí, ma'am. But I was being a little careless and cost her the second batch." He replied politely.

"Oh, well, I'll be waiting! Take your time, sweetheart, no rush!" She hummed, turning to walk back into her own yard.

Jake waved the hand that still had your fresh slick clinging to it.

You grab his hand and yank it down, hissing.

"We're going inside. Now."

#my writing #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight smut

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grapejuicestyless · 9 months

Text

Can You See Right Through Me?

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Summery: You, Belly and Stevens older sister, realize that as everyone grows older, you have become less and less important. Suddenly, everything you’ve never felt comes crashing at you.

The past summer and every single one before that had led me to this moment now. Standing alone in an empty room in the dark while everyone else ventured off to a bonfire.

It was like a switch had went off in my brain, coming down here this summer. Everything I knew becoming wrong. Everything I was so sure of becoming the unknown.

I thought I knew everything, but I knew nothing. I was wrong about everything.

The way Jeremiah’s eyes carried a special sparkle as my sister and brother piled out of the car in front of me. His lips curled into that same pearly white smile and his eyes crinkling in the corners like always. His wrinkles a permanent tattoo of his life and his happiness that he carried with him.

I knew Belly was pretty. She always had been. I’d been the one to express that to her. Being her older sister, even by only a couple years, I could see it far before anyone else could. I could see how gorgeous my little sister was with her long brown hair and her contagious laughter. She would grow into herself, I promised her that and I couldn’t have been happier watching as she found that new confidence in her appearance the older she grew.

Still, the joy I felt for her could not overpower the sting that settled in my chest the moment I realized that Jeremiah’s warm welcome was not directed towards me like all the years before. His eyes drawn to Belly. The newer, prettier Conklin. The youngest, the most at ease with her surroundings. The one who took everything with a grain of salt.

And suddenly it made sense. If I was the stars in his eyes, then Belly was the sun. The bigger, brighter star. How could this boyish ray of sunshine fall for the more mellow sister when he had his perfect reflection right in front of him?

Realizing that was what caused the downward spiral, I think. That was the turning point and suddenly the switch went off.

I wasn’t ugly, I knew that. I once had a few boyfriends back home, all of which took great interest in me, but all of which never stuck. And it was obvious as to why. My head knew it would be good to try something new, but my heart was suffocating in the love I had felt for Jeremiah. I couldn’t love someone else if my heart belonged to another.

Only, Jeremiah’s heart belonged to Belly. It was obvious. The way they laughed. The way they talked. The way they touched. I wanted him to touch me like that. I wanted his arm slung around my shoulders and I wanted his hand resting on my thigh. I wanted him to whisper his secrets into my ears again. I wanted all of it, while Belly treated it like a chore.

Like she was bored by the constant affection and the strong attraction they had for one another. Yet, even with the heaviness in my heart, and the bitterness at the tip of my tongue, I wasn’t the one he was holding down on the beach. And that could never be me. I was the sister standing in my room back at the summer home, a bikini tied around my chest as a top, jean shorts hanging low on my hips while her fingers pulled at the skin on her stomach and pushed against her stomach to make it impossibly flatter.

A routine I’d developed since the beginning of summer. Sleeping in later, staying up longer. Skipping meals by accident and curling up as small as I could while everyone else ate dinner. It was almost as if I didn’t exist. And maybe I didn’t because it seemed like nobody cared.

That was my greatest fear. What started as a minor jealousy and a spiral of undiscovered insecurities morphed into a pool of fear. Not for how I looked, but for who I was. Now that everyone was growing up, now that Conrad and I were going off to college, would anyone still need me? Belly was confident now, she didn’t need my pep talks. My mom had her best friend and Jeremiah had Belly. Nobody needed me. Nobody cared.

Knock, knock.

Or I thought nobody cared.

“Hey, Conklin?” The voice was quiet, afraid to pierce the peacefulness of the silence.

My hands slipped away from my body, my posture straightening and my eyes making friends with the ground.

“Oh, hey. Aren’t you supposed to be at that bonfire with the others?” I didn’t make a point to turn around, staying stuck in place. “I didn’t want to be there.” He confessed.

“Oh.” His eyes caught mine in the mirror. Body leaning against the doorframe and hands playing with his tied hoodie strings.

“Besides, it’s boring without you there, you know? Don’t really enjoy being there without my beer pong partner.” We laughed, my eyes averting his quickly while it died down back to a comfortable silence.

Footsteps treaded across the furnished wood floors, socks padding carefully, closer.

“Hey.” The call was gentle and not in the slightest bit pushy or pressured.

I bit my lip, feeling suddenly naked with Conrad so close. My arms came to wrap around my torso like a blanket to shield my most vulnerable parts of myself.

“Hey, no. Come one y/n. Don’t do that. Don’t hide.” His hands found mine, covering them in his warmth, pulling away at each finger that dug into my skin slowly. Pulling off that divider I’d placed between us.

His head found my shoulder. His chin tucked comfortably on top of my shoulder blade, his arms hugging around my body, loosely, but enough to relay that he was there. He was close.

“What’s going on with you?” I felt his eyes looking at me, even from the floor. I shook my head.

“Nothing.” I lied through my teeth.

“I know you better than that, Y/n. You’re my best friend.” I nodded, feeling the tears piling on my waterline until everything was a watercolor version of itself.

“You avoid everyone but the moms and me. You don’t surf in the mornings anymore. You skip dinner to go be by yourself some more. You’re dropping weight scarcely quick. This isn’t like you. Something’s bugging you. Why can’t you just let me in?” My response wasn’t something I planned. His confession something I wasn’t prepared for. The low gravel of the mumbles. So quiet and normal that it was like he never even said it. But I knew he had because there he was, looking over my shoulder to watch me through the mirror. Admiring each part of what I had to offer like it was gold. How could I have been so blind to how much Conrad cared? How his touches lingered longer than before, how he cared for me like Jeremiah once did.

A sob wracked through my body, lips parting and chest heaving as I crumbled beneath his touch. My hands grasped onto his arms, clawing at him in panic. Trying to hold onto him. He let me hold onto him.

He lowered us slowly to the ground, his breath fanning off of my face and his body giving mine a home as I curled up impossibly close to him. Still it wasn’t enough. I needed to be closer, to not be alone. To not feel like the world was constantly out of reach.

It was beyond Jeremiah and Belly. It always had been. It had only been my wake up call to how quickly things were moving and how soon I would be unimportant. How soon I would be alone.

Conrad didn’t try to shush me, or talk to me. It was like a silent conversation, confirming all his suspicions. He always knew me better than myself. He always knew there was something wrong deep down. He always saw right through me.

I saw right through me.

It was hard to tell when the tears stopped and turned into dried out cries muffled into the collar of his shirt. Who knows how long ago I became dehydrated. But Conrad stayed put, sitting with me silently until my last cry came out in a soft sniffle.

Lifting my head, I looked to him, a mess. And I saw he was crying too. His eyes were just as wet as mine and his cheeks streaked with past tears. His lip didn’t quiver like mine, but Conrad was always better at holding it together.

So, he didn’t sob like me. No, instead of breaking down like I had when our eyes met, he pulled me in. And he didn’t let me go no matter how hard I squirmed. It was like he breathed me in. And suddenly, in the moment of silence, I heard a whisper against my hair. Only a short sentence, but one that meant everything. One that made me feel less alone as I realized Conrad felt the same way.

“Help me hold onto you.” He begged.

And suddenly, everything I was insecure of, everything that I had let slip, seemed unimportant compared to the boy on his knees for me.

#tsitp conrad #conrad x reader #team conrad #conrad fisher #conrad fisher angst

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blueicequeen19 · 4 months

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Rejection

Warnings: unprotected public sexy time

My chest heaves as I fight to calm myself, my fingers tight on the sinks ledge as I stare at my tear streaked face. Goddamn him. He’s nothing. A nobody. Not worth my fucking time. But that doesn’t lessen the sting of his rejection or seeing him with someone else. If it’s a show just to make me jealous then it’s working. I hate him for making me like this.

I could have anyone on this island but my body craves the one who doesn’t do relationships. The one who refuses to be tied down or commit. I could live with keeping whatever we are in private if he’d just agree not to see anyone else. The thing is.. I don’t trust him even if he did promise.

The bathroom door flies open, slapping the wall and making me jump out of my skin as I spin around. I’m too shocked to move as I watch JJ shove the door closed and lock it. When he faces me again, chills run down my spine and my toes practically curl. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.

“You’re a real piece of work.” JJ bites out, his hands balled into fists at his side and his blue eyes sparkling with anger.

“It’s your own fault.” I snap, hating how good he looks even in the dim light. The way his hair hangs in his eyes makes him look even more dangerous.

“My fault, huh? Fine.” He shoves off the wall, advancing on me in the small space as I quickly look for a place to run but it’s no use. He reaches for me but I slap his hands away.

“Let this be my fault too.” He snags the front of my top in his fist and yanks me against his broad chest.

“Don’t you dare..” I hiss, my back meeting the wall as he presses his erection into me.

“Or what?” His answering growl lights my blood on fire. I don’t get to respond because his mouth suddenly smashes against mine, his free hand in my hair to hold me in place. Every thought leaves my body while he kisses me in a way I’d never been kissed before. I’m practically melting. His tongue dives into my mouth and my knees nearly give out. I fist his shirt, needing to get even closer to him while also never letting him stop.

“Goddamn, let me in.” JJ groans, his kisses becoming even more urgent and wet. I can hardly keep up. I bite his tongue and he sucks mine into his mouth. I dig my nails into his chest and he squeezes my breast. His hands are everywhere and still not enough.

“Why are you doing this to me?” It slips out on a sob and I can’t help it. I hate the way he drives me so damn crazy all the time but he doesn’t seem bothered as his hands cup my ass.

“I need to know what you feel like.” JJ murmurs, making me moan as his lips move to my neck and he unbuttons my shorts, butterflies erupting inside me.

“I’m not having our first time in a public restroom.” I breathe, even as I let him turn me to face the mirror and watch as he tugs my shorts and panties down my thighs.

“I’m done waiting.” I feel the heat of his cock between my legs as he presses his front to my back. I lift up on my toes as he guides himself to my entrance, my body buzzing with need. For once I just didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.

“Please, JJ. We need to be quick.” I plead, feeling the smear of his precum between my thighs. The head finally slips inside and we both suck in a breath.

“I got you, baby, don’t worry.” JJ fists the back of my shirt, holding my gaze in the mirror as he pushes the rest of the way in. I cry out just as his hand slaps over my mouth, the burn and stretch of his cock was almost too much. No wonder he was so arrogant. His cock was massive.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me. Don’t want half the town getting the wrong idea about us. We hate each other, remember?” He winks at me in the mirror and I resist biting one of his fingers.

When he starts to move, grunting and groaning in my ear as his harsh pace increases, I know I’m done for.

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #obx2 #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #outer banks x reader #blueicequeen19 #outer banks fanfiction #tw unprotected sex #jj maybank

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stinkygirl009 · 26 days

Note

could you maybe possibly do darry w a super hyperfem reader and like the gangs reactions n stuff

A/N: STOP I LOVE DOING HYPER!FEM READER!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS AMAZING IDEA<3

Tulsa Princess𝜗𝜚

Darry always adores how y/n would dress, always showing off her outfit with a bright smile. The gang always thought he would get together with a soc but damn, she was spoiled rotten! Wearing her brand-new light pink, expensive button up shirt with lace complimenting the fabric beautifully, along with her signature gold hanging earrings with small diamonds on them. Sure, plenty of people were jealous of y/n, always being the “Princess” around Tulsa, but no one expected her and Darry Curtis were together, Especially the gang! When they first saw her, they thought she was there for tutoring from ponyboy but, low and behold she was looking for her Darry<3

“Hi, don’t mean to interrupt,-“ The soft bubbly voice from Y/n was announced its self into the ears of the boys, where she smiled walking up to the front of the DX, where Steve, Two-bit, Soda, and Dallas where splayed near or leaning against the soda icebox. “But have any of y’all seen Darry around? I went over to Curtis house and no one was there.” She asked curiously. The gang thought she was crazy for walking all the way down to the greasers side of town just to find Darry. She was way too pretty to be walking alone on this side of town, even though it was still a bright Sunday morning she could’ve gotten jumped. “You crazy or somethin’?” Steve blurted out, soon to be nudged by Soda to stop him from running his mouth. Y/n gave a small laugh, For someone as pretty as her she’s one tough girl to not be afraid of the males that were in front of her. “Hey, Sorry for the bad manners!” Soda said apologized and grabbing a small dirty towel off the icebox trying to wipe away the oil grease off his stained hands. “What’s the reason you’re lookin’ for him?” Ponyboy asked almost shyly. “Well, he forgot his ring last night, jus’ wanted to give it back to him incase he was lookin for it.” The girl explained with a smile remaining on her face, ponyboy took in what she looked like, her hair styling a lace ribbon tied in a bow and her hair curled, he noticed she wearing a long skirt she would normally wear to school, with a light pink blouse with a small white cardigan and wearing ankle high socks with the lace pinched at the top with her Oxford black and white shoes. And damn she was gorgeous. She noticed Dallas was eyeing her up and down with a slight smirk on his face. (of course he wasn’t actually gonna try to get with one of his friends supposed girlfriend, for all he knows she could be a hookup-)

“Watcha’ doin’ here, Sweetheart?” Darry said walking out the front door of the DX The guys turned to see the voice of Darry seeing his face smiling at the pretty girl. Her eyes lit up when her eyes fell on him and her lips tugging into a smile. “Hi,” Y/n said walking up to him and going up the small steps and looking up at him, “You forgot this.” She said and opened her small bag and looked through it to find his ring and placed it in his open hand once she found it. He look down to look at what she gave him. “Shit, I forgot again?” He lifted it up and groaned at himself thankful that you had it instead of someone else, plus she knew how important that ring was to him, his father passing it down to him before he got killed.

“Third time, Darry!” She said, “think you need to put it around a chain when you take it off next time.” He looked up at her and sighed with a smile on his face. “Next time I won’t forget it, doll.” She smiled and pushed back a small strand of hair behind her ear. “Good.” She smiled and he leaned down to give her a sweet but short kiss. “You got your blade on ya’?” He asked making sure she would be alright on her own. “Yup, I got it with me.” She said and gave him one last kiss on the cheek before they both say a quick goodbye and letting him get back to work trying not to take too much of his time. She started walking back on the path she was walking on before quickly stoping and turning around. “It was nice to meet you guys!” And gave a small wave and continued. Everyone gave her a small smile, and Soda tilting his hat down to her as a bye.

“Since when did you get together with the ‘princess’?” Dallas joked.

#fypage #stinkgirl009’s silly little writing<3 #x reader #x y/n #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #darry curtis #darry curtis x reader #darry curtis imagine #the outsiders darry #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #johnny cade imagine #johnny cade x reader #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp

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madeintheniamh · 1 year

Text

broken ankle, karma rules

stmf one shot #9.

a/n: long time no see! i missed writing for you all so much

warnings: fluff & surgery

song: little freak- harry styles

“And next on the beam, please give a round of applause for Matilda Styles!”

Harry was stood next to you, cheering your eldest daughter on so loudly that it was starting to give you a headache. Nothing had beaten the look on Tilly’s face when she was told by her head coach that she had qualified for nationals, and you had followed her all the way up north to the arena where the competition was due to take place. You felt nervous just watching her, wondering how your 10-year-old daughter could stomach so many people staring at her, judging her every move. But then again, that was what her Dad did most nights whilst he was on tour. The Styles were performers, and loved having all eyes pointed in their direction, and Tilly was no exception to this rule.

You looked down, to see Lottie sucking on her thumb, her chewed up bunny hanging by the ear in her other fist. Harry could tell she was starting to doze off, having woken up at 5am for the car journey up here. He reached down before scooping her up in his arms and placing her on his shoulders, pointing in Tilly’s direction.

“Look at your big sister over there, sweet pea! Are you going to give her a cheer, I bet she can hear you,”

“Good luck, Tilly!” she shouted, her little voice echoing across the hall. Tilly, now stood up on top of a wooden beam, turned around to wave in her direction, smiling widely in her black and blue glittery long-sleeved leotard, emblazoned with jewels, a ribbon perched upon the tight bun you had tied her hair into. The routine started, and Harry gawked as she marched across the narrow piece of wood, flipping upside down and in all different directions, landing perfectly on her feet each time.

“That’s my girl!” he bellowed, reaching over the seats in front to get a closer look at her. The routine was coming to the finale, and this was the part she needed to stick- if the landing went just as well as the rest of it, she would be coming out with a very high score.

You watched her taking a deep breath, inhaling the stale, sweaty air of the arena, before beginning to run towards the end of the beam, her arms reaching out in front of her.

“Go on, Styles!” The girls in her team watching from the side-lines chanted, as her dainty hands made contact with the beam, before she flipped up and backwards, back down onto her feet again, and backwards, her knees tucked into her chest, getting closer to the floor, closer and closer before-

The snap was so loud, that you felt it echo across the entire arena. You felt as though things were going in slow motion, and you were helpless, watching all the way from the viewing platform, your daughter’s screams shrilling through your ears.

“Oh my god!” Harry yelled, moving Lottie from off of his shoulders and resting her on his hip.

She was laid out on the mat just off of the beam, one hand on her forehead, the other reaching down trying to grab her ankle. You rushed down the stairs, Harry’s free hand intertwined in yours, and pushed your way through the crowd that had congregated near her.

“Let them through, those are her parents!” the head coach screamed, putting her hands out to part the sea of people gawking over Tilly. Harry placed Lottie back on the ground before you both kneeled over next to her.

“Mummy, Daddy, I’m scared,” A stream of tears rolled down her face. “It hurts, it really hurts,”

Harry brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear, before wiping the tears from her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I know baby,” you sighed, locking eyes with Harry. “But you’re going to be alright,”

“Can someone get some ice? And a blanket, she’s really cold,” Harry shouted across the floor, before one of the girls came running back with them.

“Thank you sweet,” he smiled at the teenage girl wearing a leotard and track jacket, before wrapping the blanket around Tilly’s shoulders.

She sat up suddenly, and her green eyes widened in shock at the state of her foot.

“Oh no,” she cried, “I feel sick,”

Harry pressed the ice pack over her ankle before covering it up with the blanket. The sight of her mangled, twisted ankle, bleeding with a bone sticking out of it, was enough to make you and him feel queasy.

“You don’t need to see it, baby,” he whispered, rubbing her shoulders to try and warm her up. “Daddy’s going to lift you up now, okay? And we’re going to take you to the hospital, where they can fix it,”

She hissed as he hooked his arm under her knee to try and lift her.

“Don’t touch it!” she screamed, reaching out to throw his arm off of her. His hands flew up in apology.

“I’m tyring not to, Til,” He kissed her forehead, his voice beginning to break. “But I need to lift you up so I can get you to the car, okay?”

She sighed before wrapping her hands around his neck and he picked her up from the mat, cradling her in his arms like he used to when she was tiny.

“Mummy, is Tilly going to be okay?” Lottie whispered sweetly, her tiny hand now in yours.

“Yeah baby, you don’t need to worry,” you sighed, your heart breaking at the panic in her little voice. “We’re going to go to the hospital where the doctors can help her, okay?”

You watched Harry running out to the car as you followed closely behind him, as he sat in the back with Tilly for the entire car journey to the hospital.

---

“It’s a nasty break, that’s for sure,” The radiologist explained, as you noticed Harry’s face turning a shade of green as he looked at the X-Rays held out in front of him. It showed her bone as broken clean in half, bits managing to peek through her skin. “We will have to put her to sleep, and then put some pins in to hold it back in place,”

“Oh my,” Harry whimpered. “Surgery! But she’s so little,”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Mr Styles. But this is the best way of fixing it,”

He sighed, frantically running a hand through his hair.

“One of the nurses is bandaging it up temporarily whilst we speak, so she’s comfortable for now. Someone should be up in an hour or so to take her up to theatre,”

You both thanked him and Harry shook his hand before he left.

“I’ll tell her, you don’t have to,” you offered, as he sighed, now tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor.

“It’s making me feel sick thinking about it, her up on the table, and she’s so, so little, what if she doesn’t wake up, and-”

“Harry,” you warned him. “I feel the exact same as you, but if she sees how worried you are, it’s going to make her panic, and that’s not good for her right now,”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly. “I just wish it was me instead of her,”

You took his hand in yours, rubbing circles around his knuckles, before opening the door, your woozy daughter now sat up in the bed with a dazed expression on her face.

“My gorgeous girl,” Harry tried to smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. He kissed her forehead. “Are you feeling any better?”

She yawned slightly. “I’m tired, Daddy,”

You were relieved that painkillers coming through the IV on her arm were working. You knew it was bad when she hadn’t flinched as the nurse put the needle into her hand, because Tilly was normally never keen on needles.

“You sleep then, babygirl,” He said, now sitting on the end of the bed facing her, tucking in the blankets around her. Within under a minute, she was already fast asleep.

You and Harry had decided that it would be better to not tell her, because you knew she wouldn’t have slept, and also because you knew it would have hurt him too much to see her reaction. Harry had spent that entire hour pacing around the room, his green eyes darting back and forth between his daughter asleep in bed and the clock in the corner of the room.

He almost jumped when he heard the knock on the door, which also startled Tilly awake, as she bolted upright in bed.

“Hi darling, we’re going to take you upstairs now, okay?”

“Why,” Tilly muttered, her voice tainted with grogginess. “I want to stay here,”

“You’re going to have a nice sleep whilst we fix your ankle, okay? And then you’ll wake up and it won’t be hurting anymore,”

Tilly looked over at her dad, whose gaze was focused on a pot of flowers on the bedside table to avoid meeting her eyes, because he knew that if he looked at her, he would burst into tears.

“I thought… I thought we were going home,” she blubbered. “I thought we were going to get Lottie from Nanny Anne’s,”

“Nanny is going to come and see you later, okay?” you whispered, trying to keep your tone as light as possible. “But they need to fix your ankle first,”

She reached up to grab Harry’s tattooed arm, watery tears now beginning to stream down her face.

“You need to pick either Mummy or Daddy to take with you when we put you to sleep, darling,” the nurse smiled. “I’m sorry it can’t be both,”

Harry didn’t expect her answer to be him.

---

“I’m sorry baby, I know it’s horrible,” Harry sighed, stroking the back of her free hand as he watched a vial of liquid being squirted into the cannula on the other. Her hands were so tiny, that they had barely been able to get it in in the first place, and Harry had felt sick watching her cry as they struggled to find her vein.

“Am I going to wake up, Daddy?” Tilly whispered, her green eyes wide as she stared up in him. He felt another knot forming in his stomach, and could feel the sick beginning to travel up his throat.

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” He traced his fingertips across her pale cheeks. “The doctors are going to take very good care of you, you don’t need to worry,” He tried to make himself sound as certain as possible, but deep down he was more scared than she was. If he could have been lying on that bed instead of her at that moment, he would have been.

Her eyes began to flutter closed, as she tried to stare back up at him, fighting to keep them open.

“I love y-” She tried to say, but she was asleep before she could finish the sentence.

You saw him rush back out through the doors, as he collapsed down into your arms, no longer able to hold back his tears.

You didn’t need to say anything. You just held him there as the minutes slowly ticked by, listening to his quiet sobs as you felt your t-shirt beginning to become damp, running your hands through his soft brown hair.

---

“Mr and Mrs Styles,”

Harry immediately jumped up at those words.

“Is she okay?” He gasped, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” The nurse chuckled to herself, taking in the shocked look on Harry’s face. “She’s still coming round, so she’s a bit woozy, but she’s fine,”

“Thank god,” Harry muttered as he followed her back down the long, whitewashed hallway and into a small room where Tilly was tilted upright in a hospital bed, snuggled under crisp white sheets.

He moved a chair over and sat down beside her, running his thumb over her cheek before planting a kiss to her forehead. Her lips turned upwards into a smile, despite still having her eyes closed.

“Hi baby, did you have a nice dream?” Harry whispered, placing his hand over hers, grimacing slightly at the cannula in the back of it, which looked harsh and sterile imbedded in her soft pale skin. She giggled slightly, before slowly opening her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering up at him.

“Mmmhmm,” she muttered, her eyes dropping closed again. “M’still tired, though,”

“You sleep then baby, hmm?” He breathed. “It’s okay. Daddy can wait. I’ll always wait for you,”

-----

poor tilly! i'm sure harry will be the best daddy and make sure she is well looked after for the next few weeks :/

the link to my other dadrry one shots if you enjoyed this one:

#harry styles #dadrry #harry styles one shot #stmf #harry styles dad #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff

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